


The Blue Danube

by clearskiies



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1800s, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, Here we go, M/M, Multi, The Beatles AU, george takes NO Bullshit, i love gay period pieces, john is a Rebel, paul is a little mean sometimes but hes a sweetheart, ringo is just the most soft uwu babey ok protect him, woah bois, yall this gon be wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-01-31 17:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 186,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21450073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearskiies/pseuds/clearskiies
Summary: - Paul McCartney is the son of a wood chopper, barely scrounging on their savings to afford clothes and meals. As for John Lennon, it is quite the opposite. He is a prince, son of Mary - or Mimi, as she is called, the family withholding dark secrets from the public. He wishes for a new life, rebellious and sick of having to fake his whole life and be the "perfect son". Well, opportunity knocks for the young prince when his auntie hosts a masquerade for John's 18th and he meets the mysterious boy in the black mask. ( AU set in the 1850s )[ SPOTIFY PLAYLIST ] - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/38BeU8t3wsGf7A9oF2QVDu?si=kb2jI44hTBWaG7Ry7UW4Ywor search for ' The Blue Danube ; ' it's under the name galaxxygbg6
Relationships: Cynthia Lennon/John Lennon, George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, George Harrison/Ringo Starr, Jane Asher/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Stuart Sutcliffe, Linda McCartney/Paul McCartney
Comments: 175
Kudos: 254





	1. prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> yall i hope u enjoy this !!! this is gonna be wild omg fdfhkffhkjajk get ready eeeeee

_july 1850_

"You can't catch me, George!" 

"Oh, yes I can!" These words echoed around the tall hallway, the sound of frantic children's footsteps accompanying the racket. The lanky, dark-eyed seven-year-old boy, named George as we have learnt, was desperate to catch up to the older, auburn-haired boy who was sprinting away from him in bare feet, the two slipping and sliding on the flawless, shiny wooden floorboards, bumping into long walls with flowered wallpaper, just missing sleek side-tables adorned with vases which withheld top-quality roses and tulips. 

"O-Oh-! I say, watch where you are going, boys! Mr. Lennon, is that a tablecloth??" A tall, dark-haired boy, barely sixteen, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits, was almost knocked off his feet when the two boys weaved past him, calling after them with an outraged yell, but not without a hint of amusement. John was, indeed, draped in an expensive, pure white lace tablecloth, giggling boyishly and grinning all the while as the nine-year-old was chased by George. 

"Apologies, Mr. Epstein!" George had managed to call out to the servant before they whipped around a corner, disappearing further into the depths of the manor. 

"Come on, slow poke! You can catch up!" The young prince called, bursting into the lounge area, which was luckily empty. The large room was adorned with dark oak bookshelves stacked with hundreds of books, a large velvet sofa in the middle with a dark oak coffee table placed in front , a lace tablecloth on top with a large bowl of various fruits, and another sofa of the same type opposite the other. A large window faced the back gardens, which went on for miles and miles, lace curtains draped in front, creating honeyed patterns which were cast onto the waxed floor, then velvet curtains tied back with golden string next to it. Soft patterned carpet tickled their bare feet as George passed John and flopped onto the sofa, sinking into it. 

"That's it! You win, sir captain! I'm defeated!" The dark-haired boy puffed out, pulling off the top hat he stole from his father and dumping it on the floor. "I can chase after you no more."

"Ha! See that? I win! I am the best pirate in all of the land, and you're the worst!" He made a face at his friend, who wasn't really paying attention to the prince, gazing in wonder and amazement at the room he had only seen twice now.

"This room is so big! How on earth do you get around, John? Your whole house is enormous!" 

"I don't know, really. It is really boring here." John spoke after a few moments' thought. "I get to see my cousins sometimes, but they are either too young or too old for me anyway. It isn't fair! I don't like it. There aren't any people to play with! And Mimi does not want me to play with you or Stuart." He crossed his arms defiantly, a frustrated look on the prince's face. "She says you and Stuart are "working class children" and I shouldn't play with people who are "of lower class that work for me". I don't understand why not!" 

"Oh." Was all that George uttered, gazing embarrassed at his feet, toying with the loose ends of his tattered shirt. His mood had soured considerably, and John could notice. "Right."

"I am dearly sorry, Georgie! Please do not hate me, I don't agree with a word she says anyhow." John blinked, perching on the carpet next to the sofa, gazing pleadingly up at his friend he has known for about a month. 

"It's alright, I don't hate you, John!" George grinned down at him, clearly relieved that John didn't agree with his auntie. "Oh, I forgot to tell ya!- I made a new friend, his name's Paul!" His mood brightened as the young boy changed the subject, John listening with somewhat interest as he jumped up to sit on the coffee table, which he was definitely not allowed to do. But would that stop him? Nope. "He's a year older than me, but he loves music and pirates like us two! I think you'd like him. He lives a few houses away from me!" 

"Humph." John huffed slightly, picking up his pure golden wristwatch and toying with it. Jealousy seeped into his chest as his eyebrows furrowed, eyes darkening slightly as shadows fell on the almond orbs. Seeing the young prince like that, George felt intimidated, the expression on the boy's face almost making him look ten years his senior. George can get friends so easily, whenever he pleases. It isn't fair. No one wants to play with me, they all think I'm snobby and mean because I'm a prince. I can't help being able to eat chocolates, fruits, wear nice things (even if they are too tight) and do whatever I please! Oh well. At least I have George and Stu and Pete.  
"Yes, maybe. Where is Stu?" John shrugged off whatever George was saying, standing up and unwrapping the large tablecloth he had been using as a pretend bandana, which was considerably larger than what an actual bandana was, of course. 

"How should I know? He's your friend." The coffee-bean eyed boy shrugged, before reaching and snatching an apple from the bowl on the coffee table, digging his unusually sharp canines into it. 

"Probably watching the painters again." John decided. "I am going to go find him. I'll see you later, Georgie."

"See ya later." George flicked John's ear with a smirk, John reacting by snickering and shoving him away, then starting to trot excitedly away, the prospect of seeing Stu changing his mood completely. Still dragging the tablecloth along with him tightly in his hands, the ends collecting dust on the sleek floor.  
Reaching up to the familiar chocolate-coloured door, the chestnut-eyed boy twisted the glinting golden doorknob and peeking inside the towering room. The artists that resided here were perched on their stools, painting at easels, some cleaning brushes in the corner and chattering softly, and there Stu was, right in the middle of it all. Swinging his short knobbly legs on a rickety stool, eyes shining with interest and excitement as his father Mr. Sutcliffe next to him was whispering to him, pointing out things on the painting and teaching him tricks with art.  
In front of them was John's cousin, the little girl stuck on a small velvet seat while having her portrait painted, struggling to keep still for the artist, queen Mimi behind her with her hands placed firmly on the girl's shoulders, trying to calm and placate the young girl in an overly decorated puffy dress. John never understood that, he could never sit for paintings and he hated it when Mimi would make him. He could not sit still!

"Stuart! You're here!" John exclaimed in the almost silent room, his voice echoing loudly in the room and catching the attention of everyone in the room, his cousin being especially relieved as the child slipped off the seat and started to slink away before John scrambled excitedly up to his friend. 

"Hi Johnny!" The older boy grinned at John happily. "Father is showing me some painting stuff!" Stu pointed at the half-done painting in front of them, which Mr. Sutcliffe had stopped working on as the subject of it had disappeared. 

"Oh. That sounds boring." John shrugged slightly, before grinning again. "Come play with me and George! We are playing pirates."  
Stu grew upset, looking down at his knees, legs halting as he hunched his shoulders dejectedly. 

"But I want to watch... please John? I'll play with you and George tomorrow, I promise."

Silence for a moment, before John huffed. "Alright then." He crossed his arms over his chest, still clutching the cloth as he turned away, still feeling Stu's eyes searching him. Suddenly a familiar, but feared voice cut in between them.

"John, be nice." Mimi hurried over, placing a firm hand onto the young prince's shoulder and guiding him somewhat roughly out of the room, her footsteps fast and determined. "Now, give that tablecloth to Mr. Epstein, and go to your room. Dinner is about to be served." They were out in the front room now, John slipping slightly on the shiny, intricately designed marble floor. 

"But George!-" 

"Sh! No buts." The queen silenced him sternly, towering over him with her silky blue tight dress, a green overcoat draped over her elbows and trailing after her. "George is going to go home now. Besides, you do not want to play with those types of children, John." She leaned down slightly to gaze at him with a severe expression, expensive diamond jewellery glinting in the evening light. "They are of uneducated lower class, they work for us. They are not worthy of your time." 

The young boy stared at her for a few seconds before souring, face scrunching up slightly as he turned his head away with a 'hmph!'. Sighing, Mimi patted his back and straightened up, adjusting her tightly done hair, looking into the distance.

"Go wash your hands, dinner is almost ready." She muttered, before strutting off, her high-heeled shoes making a click-clack noise on the smooth flooring as her figure disappeared into another room in the side of John's vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all !!! this is the prologue hhgkjfkjg sorry its not particularly interesting its just a lil insight. anyways, i hope u guys enjoy !! give feedback eeeee


	2. one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- paul mccartney is the son of a wood chopper, barely scrounging on their savings to afford clothes and meals. as for john lennon, it is quite the opposite. he is a prince , son of mary or mimi as she is called, the family withholding dark secrets from the public. he wishes for a new life, rebellious and sick of having to fake his whole life and be the "perfect son". well, opportunity knocks for the young prince when his auntie hosts a masquerade for john's 18th and he meets the mysterious boy in the black mask. ( au set in the 1850's )

Paul McCartney really hated sunlight at that moment. 

The brilliant rays spilled right from the window facing their one bedroom, casting bright light directly onto Paul's face. Letting a groan escape from his mouth, the raven-haired boy slowly opened his sticky eyelids, elongated eyelashes casting shadows on his freckled, sunken cheeks, quickly sitting up to get out of the sun's rays. Rubbing his eyes while yawning, the boy stumbled up to his feet from the large, only mattress in the room, which made a loud creaking noise as Paul removed himself from it. Hearing rustling from the kitchen, he realised his father must be up and making their breakfast. As if on cue, Paul's stomach sounded with a grumble, and he huffed slightly, before making his way out the door and into the second room where the kitchen and single sofa was. He hissed slightly as his feet hit the cold, rough stone below, and he heard slight stomping above as the family of five that lived above them in the second storey of the rickety house moved about. Jane Asher was the girl that he first met of the family. She was the middle child, with a younger sister and older brother. She was a lovely girl, and Paul had developed a bit of a crush on her, but they have only known each other for about a month now. The McCartney's have only met the other members of the family in passing. 

"Ah, Paul, yer awake!" Jim's exclaimed happily, holding two (slightly cracked) plates with one slice of bread and two slices of cheese on each, placing them on the little counter they used both as a table and cooking area. "'Ere's yer breakfast. Call yer brother ova' now, would ya?" 

"Alrigh'. Bread an' cheese again, Da?" The fourteen year old groaned disappointedly, scratching his side and moving to call Mike inside from the back garden. To any outsider, even if the family dressed in royal-worthy clothes and pretended to live in a manor, they would be able to tell they were poor by their accents. Roughened and slurred slightly, due to rarely any education or proper teaching usually, everyone in this area had similar accents, and as you go further into the city, the accents of the residents grew more and more poshened and had wider vocabulary. 

"Mikey! C'mon inside, get yer breakfas'! We need ta hurry up, we'll be late fer work!" Paul leaned outside the doorway, the back door having fallen off and laying next to the doorway, ready to be fixed when someone finds time. They worked every day of the week, and today was a Saturday. They couldn't afford no work on weekends.

"Comin', wai' up!" Mike leaped up from amongst the overgrown grass, nearly knocking over the stack of tobacco from their harvest in the summer, speeding inside past his brother. On the side, Jim owned a small farm in their backyard which he worked on with the Asher family, though mainly the Ashers owned it. They grew tobacco, wheat, corn, and cotton. Cotton worked best for them, because it rains often in England, and cotton needs plenty of water. 

"Ye shouldn't 'ave been outside, Mike, 'ts bloody freezin', ye'll catch yer death! An' don' bloody sit in th' grass, Mike! Ye could get spider bites!" Paul fussed slightly, following him back into the house and plonking down on the rickety old chair that's probably existed since the 1600's. 

"Eh, wha'ever. 'm jus' hungry." Mike chowed down on his bread and cheese. Sighing, Paul and Jim joined in, finishing their breakfast quickly. Suddenly, a hacking cough sounded from the gaunt, fawn-eyed boy, coughing himself hoarse as he struggled to breathe.

"P-Paul! Are ye okay?" Mike watched his brother with growing fright and concern, patting his back tentatively. If Paul had gotten sick, then that was the end. They didn't have the finances to afford a doctor, and even if they could afford a doctor, it would be the cheapest one yet who wouldn't be able to help Paul at all, and Paul would contract a disease and most likely die. Lots of children went that way, especially at a young age. It was just a part of life. They could do nothing about it. It was a miracle Paul and Mike made it this far. Jim watched his son with horror flashing in his eyes, leaning forward as he tried to comfort Paul. 

"Paul! Deep breaths, okay-"

"I--" The young boy sucked in a breath, finally stopping as he sighed, rubbing his throat and wincing slightly. "'m fine, don' worry-" He choked out, then hurried to get out a cup and fill it from their bucket of rainwater for the weekend. After a few seconds of dead silence, Paul straightened up and wiped his mouth. "'m alright. Please don' worry, guys. I think I mighta choked on some o' my bread." He chuckled slightly, smiling awkwardly at his terrified dad and brother. Finally, they all relaxed and fell into chatter as they collected their stuff for work, Paul ducking back into their bedroom and grabbing a cotton white shirt, and a pair of black trousers, and his only pair of scuffed black shoes. That was all that he had at the moment, (not that he had much overall) his other clothes were dirty and ready to be washed.

"Alrigh' boys, time ta go! Paul, have ye got yer coat? It's bloody cold outside. Mike, leave th' spider alone!" Jim helped his young boys organise their things, pulling Mike away from the spiderweb in the corner, before going outside onto their front lawn (which had nothing but overgrown grass and a small beaten path) and checking their sundial, (they couldn't afford a proper working clock) thanking the gods that there was a small patch of sunlight. It seemed to be about 5am to 6am. Setting off down the dirt road, the family of (recently) three trotted off to work. The fourteen year old feeling unfamiliar and cold without the feel of his mother walking beside them, which she stopped at the end of last year as she started to get too sick to go, before.... it. Off to her two jobs as a washerwoman and seamstress, though she always wanted to be a nurse. 

"See ya, boys! Have fun wi' yer wood-choppin'!" Lazy grin playing on her lips, sable-coloured hair flying in the wind. Vesuvianite eyes crinkling with laughter. 

Shaking his head slightly, he lifted his head. She was gone now. He had to move on. Or try, at least. 

"I know, son. I know." Jim placed a gentle hand on Paul's shoulder, his eyes reflecting a deep sadness and knowing that Paul knew would stay for a long time. 

✧

"'Ello, Jim!" 

"Awrigh', James?"

The various colleagues that worked alongside the McCartney's greeted the man as they entered the main barn area, which went on for kilometres, filled with piles and piles of logs, chopped logs in one area ready for transportation via horse and cart, logs ready for chopping on the other. Jim greeted them in return, shaking hands with one before they passed through the area and out into the large outback area, where many people were hard at work, men and boys of all ages. No women though, and that was expected of, anyhow. Paul never really understood why women aren't allowed to work in places like this. Why not? His mother was just as strong as the rest of the men here. Remembering the times when Mary would carry him around, playing games and having fun. She was stronger than Jim, in fact. Paul suspected he would know when he was older. 

"Okay, boys. Let's get ta work, shall we?" Jim gave an encouraging smile at Paul and Mike, (which wasn't very encouraging and looked more like a grimace) before they picked up nearby axes, Mike struggling slightly to hold up the heavy object. Standing in front of a large log, they began on one end, a young bony boy of about eleven working on another, all alone. His father must be working on another area. Paul knew him, his name was David Jones, though he preferred Bowie as his last name. Paul didn't know why, but he respected it. 

"'ey, Paul." David looked up and smiled at the older boy, continuing to hack away at the log with a grunt. 

"'ello, David. 'ow's th' wife?" Paul joked with a grin, moving over to work next to his friend with happiness. At least it wouldn't be as boring with David to keep him company. 

"Oh, 'orrible. She left me fer another man an' took the kids with 'er." He pretended to sob, making a pouty face, Paul letting out a burst of loud laughter, which sounded strange in the environment they were in, where there was only grunts of people at work, and sometimes miserable sobbing of young boys who couldn't take it anymore. It was refreshing, and caused people around them to look up with surprise, then smile, and continue working. As they chatted and worked, Paul wiped the sweat off his brow, stopping to take off his tattered, thin coat despite the chilly wind, feeling too hot to keep it on. It didn't do him much good anyway. 

All of a sudden, Paul suddenly felt a chill go down his spine, feeling a pair of eyes burning into the side of his head. Urging himself to look up, he did so, gazing into the distance and locking eyes with someone. The person, who looked to be a boy of about sixteen, was standing right at the fusty, splintered fence, auburn hair flying in the wind. The boy was wearing a neat, large, black fur coat, and expensive-looking pants.Round glasses were perched on his long, slightly crooked nose, thick eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinting against the wind. But what really caught his eye was the obvious golden King's crest planted on the breast of the jacket. Oh. Feeling hatred and fury bubble up in his throat once again, he glared at the boy as hard and as frightening as he could muster. Fuckin' royals. He would always hate rich people. That would never change.

✧✧✧✧✧✧

"Don't you take your anger out on me, young man!"  
This was what was heard throughout the entire first floor of the palace. Queen Mimi's stern, harsh voice echoed, bouncing off the marble floors and sleek wooden and stone walls. 

"I can an' I will! You always act like-- like 'ts my bloody fault tha' uncle George died!" A somewhat scouse accent slipped through John's usually posh accent, which usually happened when he was angry. Most of his scouse accent was picked up through the maids or servants, or from George and Ringo. He stuck to it because he liked it. It made him feel... normal, somewhat. Mimi certainly didn't like it, though. Not many people here did. 

"Oh, you know that is not true! Why, I ought to send you to your room again, like a child! Because that's the way you are acting right now!" Mimi clutched the sides of her long, puffy silky green dress, knuckles white and face taut with anger. 

"Fuck you, Mimi! Jus' fuck you!" The sixteen year old bellowed, and on the spur of the moment, he spit at the glossy floor below at Mimi's feet, before storming off away from his auntie, not waiting for a reaction and grabbing the nearest coat and shrugging it on.

"JOHN! I--" She gasped in pure shock, gazing after her cursing nephew. "John!" She tried to get his attention, scurrying forward, but he had already thrown the massive wooden, golden decorated doors open, sprinting straight down the polished steps and into the enormous garden.

"Fuckin' Mimi bein' a bitch again.." He sputtered, jaw tight as he grinded his teeth slightly, stomping away through the front of the manor and out the tremendous matte black gates. Always actin' as if I'm gonna murder someone one day.... not my bloody fault he died... it's not fair...

As the young prince paraded down the smooth, clean sidewalk, gazing at the large, beautiful manors with neatly trimmed bushes and trees which were blowing every which way in the icy wind that had picked up considerably since this morning, causing John to clutch at his coat and bring it closer to his body, which (annoyingly to John) displayed the King's crest clearly on the breast.  
Gazing all around him, he noticed the environment started to change. The road below him started to crack and crumble, different weeds and dirt poking out in gaps as the road became more and more fragmented and turning into just dirt. The houses around grew smaller and smaller, paint peeling, fences broken and laying shattered all around, some having none at all. Some even missing front doors. The neat vegetation turned into wild bushes and overgrown grass, weeds scattered along the landscape. 

People started to appear, old men and women doing various things such as hanging out the washing or fixing or cleaning one thing or another. Their skin tanned and wrinkly like leather from being out in the sun, unlike John's pale, smooth skin. Most wearing overalls with a cotton shirt, or no shirt at all. Some in trousers and nothing more, but none with vests or ties. Young girls and boys in decrepit clothing which hung from their tiny skinny bodies, watching the out of place prince walking by with wide eyes, their faces gaunt and sunken with dark bags underneath their eyes, most having dirt on their faces and hands, looking as if they haven't bathed in weeks, which was most likely true. 

John felt his heart tug guiltily at his chest, cheeks growing hot with embarrassment as an older boy threw a rock at him, yelling at the prince.

"Get outta 'ere, royal scum!" 

John jumped in fright and turned away, quickly running in between two ancient houses and into their overgrown gardens, which usually had crops growing, as he ascended up the hills into the trees, away from the prying eyes of the poor. He felt so horrible all of a sudden. He wished he didn't leave the palace at all, now. He felt so helpless seeing those people, knowing that he had never and would never experience that in his life. Wishing he could change it. But he knew he probably couldn't, I mean, he was just a sixteen year old boy. Maybe when he becomes king one day... one day.  
Shaking himself out of those thoughts, John arrived at a mangled wire fence, which went on for miles and miles each way, and low enough to be easily scaled if he so wished, but he stayed put, not wanting to be shot for trespassing or something like that. Staring into the area, he slipped his glasses on from his pocket, and as his vision focussed he noticed it was filled with piles and piles of logs, some chopped and some not. It must be a logging area. Boys as young as eight were working on the field, tears tracking down their dirt-covered cheeks as they struggled to continuously hack away with the heavy axes. 

Close to where John was, there was a boy of about fourteen, blackbird-coloured hair flying every which way in the chilly wind. Long eyelashes fluttering as the boy squinted and huffed in concentration, arched brows furrowed, cotton shirt flapping crazily, hugging his rawboned body. There was a bit of remaining puppy fat at his jaw, which would probably disappear in a year or two. An older man and younger boy was on his left, and a scrawny boy on the right, who the pretty boy was talking to. He felt his heart beat faster, feeling guilt bubble up in his chest as he continued to stare. But suddenly, the boy lifted his gaze to lock eyes with John, green-hazel eyes flashing with fury as his surprised expression turned into incensed, resentful one. The prince could almost feel its power from here, and he stepped back slightly, gulping as his eyes widened. His mood soured even more as John turned away, feeling terrible as he sifted through the tall grass into the distance.

I don't know you, but I'm sorry. He thought to himself. I'm just sorry.

✧✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dhjdshdfhkfkj hope u guys enjoyed this one !! give feedback pls aaahh anyways dont have much to say, dont rlly wanna spoil much for yall teehee ;))) aight see ya! next chap will hopefully be out soon.


	3. two.

february 1857

Droopy, sultry jade-rust coloured eyes gazed at him, reflecting a warm sunny day in its depths. Elongated, fluttering eyelashes rested on slightly chubby, freckled cheeks. A fond smile tugged on the man's plump, pretty pink lips. Perfectly arched eyebrows raised. Wha.....who is he? He looks familiar...

The man was dressed in a matching, neat three-piece silk suit of the finest calibre, coloured a lovely verdure green. He seemed to be in about his mid-twenties, slender legs crossed delicately as the man moved to sit next to John (very closely) on the smooth velvety couch. It......it's the boy I saw, a couple of months ago. The one who was chopping wood at that workplace. What the.....why am I dreaming about him?? And why is he older? What the hell's going on? John gazed around him. They were in the lounge room of the manor, patches of sun streaming from the window. Anything more than two metres in front of him faded into white. The colours were oddly saturated and prominent, every object having a smooth edge to them, and no matter how hard he tried, nothing could focus properly, except for the man next to him, who was as clear as crystal.

"Who are you? W-what am I doing here?"

"Wha' d' ye mean, Johnny? We're in our bloody house, daft idiot." The man's voice sounded like leaping into a pool of deep, burgundy honey, scouse accent prominent in his vowels. The most loving smile that John had ever seen was cast his way, causing John's breath to hitch in shock as the man suddenly leaned forward and rested his head on John's shoulder, long ebony hair tickling the confused man's neck. John looked down at himself, seeing his legs significantly larger and longer as well, lifting his hands to see them larger but still as smooth and unworked as they were, ink embedded under one of his fingernails. Am I older? Am I also a man? He reached to feel his face, feeling a well-defined jaw and a thick moustache, and a pair of glasses resting on his nose bridge before he ripped off to inspect them, which of course, blurred his vision. They were small, rounded ones that you would usually see on rich old women. What?

"John, I need t' tell ye sumthin'." To catch John's attention, the man pressed a brief kiss to the underside of John's jaw, causing the prince to freeze, completely stunned, cheeks going beet red. WHAT THE FUCK? Why.... why did I like that?

"Th' hell you doing? I-" John flipped around to face the man, eyes wide in horror at what he just felt.

"John, I love you." There was complete silence. John felt weirdly calm, his heart swelling in...love..? For this man. He could not physically get himself to react in any way other than nuzzle his nose into the crook of the man's shoulder. The fuck is going on right now?

"I jus' want ta say.... thank ye. Y'know?" The man reached to grab John's hands, slender (but calloused and worn) fingers lacing with large, smooth ones. "Like- ye helped bring us outta poverty. An' ye've been doin' so much ta--" The doe-eyed man stopped himself for a moment, tongue darting out to lick his plump lips. "Ta help the people like us, as much as ye can manage. Yer jus' fokin amazin', aye? Thank ye so much."  
There was so much love reflected in the man's hazel-forest eyes as he gazed at John that it caused him to gulp, not being able to tear his gaze away.

"We will meet again one day."

"What? I--wait-"

"John. John." The man started to chant, a grin plastered on his face. "John! John! JOHN!--"

"John! JOHN! M'therfucka, get up!" John flew awake with a yell, leaping into a sitting position as his vision cleared to see his looming, massive bedroom in front of him.  
It was Claudia, the maid. She was John's age and had been working there for about a year.

"C'mon, mate! Mimi wants ya downstairs!" The girl rolled her cyan-grey eyes, plump lips in a pout with hands on her hips. She was wearing the typical maid's outfit that the maids wore in the manor, the dress billowing down to her feet, hair done up in a large, perfectly done bun, eyes squinting due to her being quite blind but not affording glasses. It made John feel a little guilty because he had a pair of his own but he didn't like to wear them because he didn't think they were cool. The only bit of rebellion that John could notice from Claudia, though, was the undone shoes and missing socks. Her vulgar language caused the prince to revel back slightly in shock. No one spoke to him like that! Only her, Ringo and George did. He didn't mind it at all, though. It made him feel like a normal person.

"Oh, right-" John sighed, rubbing his eyes and letting out a groan. "She coulda jus' bloody come up 'ere 'erself, but alas."

Snickering, Claudia crossed her arms. "Righ', 'urry up an' get dressed so she gets off my back an' I can do otha stuff. I've got ta 'escort' ye to th' greetin' room, apparently." The azure-eyed girl shrugged and strutted out, shutting the door behind her with a soft thud.

"Escort? 'm not bloody five..." John groaned once again, throwing his head back before straightening and running a hand through his tousled auburn hair, snatching the nearest clothes, which were an olive green plaited shirt (which was slightly oversized and would probably fit him in a few years) and a pair of dark green striped trousers. Not bothering with any shoes or vests, the boy shuffled into the sleek ivory bathroom, not really bothering to fix his hair as he slipped on the clothes, then going to check himself out in the body size mirror next to his bed. The shirt.... it was the same shirt that the man was wearing in the dream. Oh yeah, that. What the fuck was that, brain?  
Exiting the room, John flashed a fake smile to Claudia as the two started to walk down the hallway and towards the large stairs leading to the second floor.

"Aye, yer quiet today. Usually yer rantin' about Mimi or sumthin'." She glanced towards him, catching his eye with a stern look.

"I...I dunno. Jus' thinkin'. I'll tell ye later." He didn't exactly feel like telling her about the dream and her screaming;  
'Oh my god, he mus' be yer future husband!'  
Which he knew she would definitely do. 

"Anyways, me an' Ringo are gonna smoke later. 'e's comin' ova today." The pair reached the tall, sleek wooden door that led to the greeting room.

"Aigh', save me an' Elizabeth some then. In th' secon' cupboard in th' fourth hall, remember!" The girl broke out into a grin, starting to walk backwards before turning around and hurrying away when she heard a bell starting to ring. Must be one of my half-sisters. Alright, here goes..

Sucking in a breath, John lifted his hand and knocked gently three times with his knuckles, every muscle tensing as the silence was so deafening that it caused goosebumps to appear on his pale skin.

"Enter." Came his auntie's stern, tight voice from inside the room. Letting out his held breath, John rested his forehead on the door, eyes screwed shut. This can't be good. Slowly creaking the door open, the boy slipped into the room silently, every step quiet and careful as if he was about to step on eggshells, eyes wide and body stance ready to flee if necessary. Slowly, John perched on the edge of the supple velvet sofa. Mimi was sat delicately on the other sofa, one leg crossed over the other and creamy lace dress billowing at her high-heeled feet. One thin, slender hand holding up a small plate while the other held a teacup, pinky finger lifted delicately as she took a polite sip. Her face was taut but otherwise unreadable, hazel-blue eyes reflecting the flickering fire that was licking up the fresh, perfectly cut logs.  
Noticing the logs, John's thoughts were brought back to the dream. Sultry doe eyes gazed at him from within the fire, staring straight into his soul and reading every thought he ever had. He could almost feel the tickle of raven hair on the side of his neck.

"John." The queen started softly. He was snapped out of thoughts and brought back to reality, turning away from the fire to lock eyes with his auntie. Quickly remembering to poshen his accent, the prince started to speak.

"Yes, I know I'm going to do the school work-"

"Do not interrupt me." She held up a firm hand, her voice still steady and quiet as ever. Silence followed. John could feel the tension thickening by the second, becoming so thick it was like swimming through a pool of honey. He wanted to make a snarky remark but held his tongue as he waited for Mimi to speak. "Right. Well- I just wanted to say, that you are sixteen now, seventeen later this year. The time for marriage and finding a suitable wife is drawing nearer. I need to step down from my place at the throne, and you, John, will be taking George's place and you need to find a suitor to take mine."

What? Oh, god- He felt his heart rate speeding up, breath shallowing by the second. I-I have to take the throne?

Staring at him sternly, the queen placed down her teacup onto the plate. "Next year for your eighteenth birthday we will be hosting a masquerade. Later this year, there will be also a ball hosted by Mr Powell to celebrate his daughter's birthday and...." Mimi's words started to fade into the distance, the prince's thoughts becoming louder and louder as they stormed his mind like an enormous ocean wave. I'm taking my uncle's place soon. I'm gonna be a fucking king. I have to find a wife- I'm not fucking ready for this, oh my god-

"John Lennon, are you listening to me??" Her harsh tone of voice cut into his thoughts, snapping John away once again as he blinked slightly.

"I-I'm sorry. But-"

"No! No buts." She held up a slightly knobbly finger. "You do not have a choice in this. You are going to take my place on the throne and we will find you a suitable wife to join you, and that is settled." The middle-aged lady stood up, placing down the teacup and plate gently before straightening, smoothing out her dress. "Breakfast is going to be served in about half an hour. Do not go anywhere." And with that, Mimi turned and strutted out, leaving behind a trail of strongly scented lavender and expensive perfumes.

Huffing in anger, the boy rested his elbows on his shoulders, plopping his head in his palms. What the fuck am I gonna do now?

\--- 

"Righ' git." Ringo let out a chuckle. Kicking his feet up on the wooden table in front of them, John took another puff of the pipe with a sigh of relief, the tobacco smoke billowing from his parted lips and fading into the air above. It was a warm late afternoon, the sun streaming down with its blazing rays and giving everything a lovely golden colour. The bees, butterflies and various insects buzzed lazily around them, the various bushes, plants and flowers drifting slowly back and forth in the gentle wind. Ringo was seated comfortably on the wooden seat, tousled hair flying this way and that, azure eyes squinted slightly against the sun, lips pulled in a lazy smile, the sunlight edging his face and casting long shadows from the sixteen-year-old's pretty eyelashes.

"Wha'ever." John replied shortly, not feeling in the mood for banter with his friend, brooding look spread across his face as he took another drag before passing the wooden pipe back to Ringo.

"Aye, ye goin' to the ball for tha' Cynthia girl? I am, not particularly excited though. It'll be fine, I guess." Ringo shrugged, baby blue shirt tight against his arms, showing off somewhat-defined muscles, a matching dark blue vest and trousers going along with it. His shoes and socks had been slipped off long ago, though. John turned to his friend, his eyes falling on Ringo's arms and neck, collarbone poking out from his slightly undone shirt. John had always found his friend ever so slightly attractive, but he would never admit it to himself, let alone tell anyone. He would have these thoughts sometimes, about boys and men. Ever since he was ten. He preferred not to brood much on it, though. It scared him quite a lot, thinking he could possibly be queer. But he couldn't be, he had been with many girls and he knew he had an attraction to them! He's just mistaking his thoughts about men as queer thoughts. They were nothing else but regular thoughts. Right?

"Yeah, 'm goin' too. Mimi wants me ta find a wife there." He mumbled absent-mindedly, taking the pipe back from his blue-eyed friend wordlessly before taking a puff.

"Oh, are ye serious??" Ringo turned to John with wide eyes, finally having taken his gaze away from the gardeners working on the fields in front of them. "Ye've got ta find a wife! Ha!" The boy burst into laughter, nudging his friend's shoulder and almost making him choke on the pipe that was resting in his mouth. "Will ye finally listen to Mimi's words for the firs' time ever?"

"Wha'? No!" The prince blinked in shock, shaking his head fervently as Ringo continued to poke and prod John. "No, no no- maybe- maybe. Shurrup." John felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as he sunk lower into his chair, turning his face away.

"Ohhh, c'mon! Ye know ye want ta! Johnny's got a wife, Johnny's got a wife-" Ringo started to sing, poking John in the face and shoulder continuously.

"Aye, guys! 'ow are we all?" A new but familiar voice sounded from behind them and John whipped around, and spotting George sauntering over towards them with a grin, cotton shirt hanging loosely from his gaunt, lanky body. The boy had recently just turned fourteen, his birthday being just a few days ago. He didn't look a day over twelve, in John's eyes at least. But he still loved him nonetheless. Oh fuck- he's not meant to be here.

"Shit, George, get down!—" The two older boys leapt up, grabbing the surprised dark-eyed boy by the arm and sprinting away, hiding in the fruit trees as they sped away from the house and into the undergrowth, away from prying eyes that gazed from the windows. Stopping finally behind the willow trees that overhung the lake in front of them.

"George! Wha' the fuck are ye doin'? Ye coulda been caught, we have to organise this stuff previously! Or go by the side bushes like ye usually do!" Ringo fussed like a worried mother, brushing loose leaves off the boy's shoulder, straightening his friend's clothes. "Ye know what will happen if ye get caught!"

"Yeah, I know, I know. I get it, 'm poor as hell an' I can't 'ang out wi' ye guys normally." The young boy huffed, crossing his arms and plonking down on the neat grass, turning away from his two friends defiantly. "Jus' wanted ta see ye guys."

"Aye, I know, 'm sorry. It has to be this way— if I didn't want ta be friends wi' ye I woulda let Mimi catch ye! Ye know she doesn't want me 'anging out with people like.... ye. I guess. Which is stupid." John shrugged, a solemn look on his face as he slowly perched down next to him, Ringo placing himself on the other side of George, wrapping an arm around the younger boy's shoulders.

"Yeah." The young boy let a small smile caress his lips, uncrossing his arms as his muscles relaxed and he leaned into Ringo's touch. "Is alrigh'."  
Now chattering away, the four boys talked about anything and everything, lying beside the lake with ease and content, George in the middle with his head resting on Ringo's stomach and his legs resting on John's. As they chatted, the sun fell lower and lower in the sky, casting long shadows from the trees and creating honeyed patterns on the boy's figures. 

"Aye, Geo!" John sat up quickly with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, George's legs being thrown off (who let out a squeak as it happened) John's stomach as he stood up. The other two boys gazed up at the mischievous prince with wide eyes, their expressions reflecting their thoughts.

"Oh chris', John's on a bloody rampage-" George started, backing away. 

"I dare ye-" John reached and snatched his younger friend's legs, pulling the boy towards him and picking him up. "Ta jump in th' lake!" 

"John, JOHN, JOHN NO!--" George started to yell, struggling in the prince's tight grip before he was thrown straight towards the lake, a girlish scream echoing throughout the gardens before being cut off as he collided with the body of water. Immediately followed by George's head bobbing up with a gasp, breath shallow as he whimpered loudly. "Is' f-fff-fokin'-- f-freezin'!" Ringo and John burst into loud laughter, John clutching his side as they poked fun at their friend. "N-nnn-not funny!" George glared at them with fury, wrapping his arms around him as he started to wade towards the shore. But suddenly, on a stupid whim, the prince decided to leap in after him, sending a massive wave that soaked Ringo and George in freezing water. 

"J-John!" Ringo exclaimed in shock, standing there with wide eyes before a battle cry ripped from his throat, and he sprinted down to the lake and dove in headfirst, screaming; "'m gonna kill ye, John!" Before he was engulfed by the water. Bursting with giggles and grins, the three of them splashed and roughhoused each other, John even dunking George's head under the water for a few seconds, George spluttering with fury as he retaliated. But suddenly, the fun stopped as George fell still, letting out an "ouch!" as he lifted his arm.

"Wha's it, Geo?" Ringo turned to look at his friend, leaping off John who he had had in a headlock. 

"L......leeches." The two moved closer and there they were. Leeches were spread all across George's arm, pulsing away as they sucked the blood out of his arm. Silence fell. For a moment, at least. Because in the next second screams erupted from the three boys, thrashing around in the water as they struggled to reach the shore. Finally making their way out, they continued to yell and scream as the three of them started to pull all the leeches off of them, which turned out to be absolutely everywhere on their bodies. 

"Oh fuck, fuck! Fuck, get away--" John flicked them away from his body this way and that, doing a little dance on his tiptoes as they stripped to get all of them off. 

"Oh, chris', finally..." The three of them let out a massive sigh of relief in unison, as they plonked to the ground in just their underwear, finally having gotten rid of all of them. Then John suddenly burst out into laughter, throwing himself onto the grass, clutching his stomach. Ringo and George exchanged a look, before they couldn't hold it in anymore and joined in, laughing their goddamn heads off. It was a time to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys !!! sorry this chapter was delayed quite a bit im sorry :(( writers block a little bit. anyways hope u enjoy this one !! i got inspired by the stand by me movie which is a stephen king adaptation dkdshkfhfdfdkj its a classic. anyways, stay tuned for the next one !! see yall <33


	4. three.

may 1857

"Yer sure ye don' wanna?"

"Yes, 'm fookin' sure! Stop bloody askin' me." Paul rolled his doe eyes, eyebrows furrowing as the irritated boy plonked down on some nearby seats under the shade of an oak tree, George joining him with a sigh. It was early afternoon, the two having worked out on the garden with Paul's family, and now they were taking a quick break, wiping the sweat off their brows and Paul taking off his shirt. 

"Fine, wha'ever. But- guess wha' I got??" The lanky dark-eyed boy turned to his friend with an excited grin, raising thick eyebrows before he leaped up and ran to the bushes to where his rucksack was placed. 

"Oooh, wha' is it?" Mike turned around, hearing the last sentence George spoke and hurrying over with a grin, Paul gazing after George with a bored expression, though his eyes were sparkling with interest. 

"Well, go on, guess!" George stood up, hands behind his back as he scampered back over to the two boys, obviously squirming just to get the words out. 

"Ah, this should be good. Well, 'm guessin' money? Or food ye stole?" The raven-haired boy sat up, resting his pointy elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands, a small smirk starting to creep its way onto his sun-kissed face. 

"Yeah, it's food. Bu' guess wha' type???" George grinned even wider, which was slightly unusual as the young boy usually had a face set in an intense, almost scary glare, and caught the other's interest a lot more.

"Fine. Uh, grapes? Oh!- bananas?" Paul's eyes widened, thinking of the possibilities, the things that could be lying in George's fingertips. 

"Nope!" George paused for a moment, then spoke again, obviously too impatient to resist. "OH, wha'ever I can't keep it in! Ready.." The boy pulled his hands from behind his back to reveal two brand-spanking new, gleaming oranges and one carmine-coloured apple. "Tadaaaa!" 

The three stare at it in absolute wonder and excitement, Paul leaping up and hurrying over to examine it, Mike reaching to grab one but George pulled away. "Ey! Wait a mo', mate. We'll all take one at th' same time." 

"Wow... is this real? Fookin' 'ell, mate! Bonkers!" The doe-eyed boy reached and took an orange, staring at it in amazement as it glinted in the aureate rays.

"Yeah! Nicked 'em from th' palace. Right off th' lounge room table! They never bloody notice, been doin' it fer years. It's hilarious!" George chuckled, now letting Mike take an apple before digging his fanged teeth into the juicy apple. The four continued to chat happily, munching away on the delicious fruits they couldn't get enough of. 

"Paulie." George started when Mike had been called away to do other jobs for Jim, knowing he would become annoying and probing if he brought this up within his friend's brother's vicinity. "Paul." 

"What."   
Paul huffed shortly, toying with the orange peel and not looking at George, knowing what he was going to say. 

"C'mon, why can't ye meet 'im? I've been tellin' ya fer weeks, he really isn't bad! Jus' because 'e's the prince o' bloody liddypool doesn't mean 'e's a bad guy."

"Because! They're all th' fookin' same, anyroad. Rich bastards who don' care fer th' poor like us. I can't understand how ye like 'im!" Paul spat the words out with a look of fury on his face, flinging the orange peel into the distance, which unfortunately did not go far and hit his father on the back of the head, causing him to whip around and roll his eyes, sighing at Paul who mouthed an apology, shrinking in his seat slightly. 

"No, they aren't! I know I can't change yer mind but ye have ta see reason, Paul! John really is a great guy once ye get ta know 'im, an' he does care about us, if he didn't 'e wouldn't be friends with me, aye?" 

"I-I don' care wha' ye think! Rich people are scumbags, sitting on their velvet sofas and eating 'caviar' and grapes while people wait on their every command and us 'common' people slave away an' earn little ta none! Yer not gonna convince me otherwise." Paul grew more and more heated as he went along, throwing up his hands as he stood up and paced. "Now stop tryin'. In fact, go 'ang out with 'im now. 'm mad at ye." The fourteen year old crossed his arms in irritation and stomped off, leaving a confused and sad George behind. 

✧✧✧✧✧ 

'From the very beginning— from the first moment, I may almost say— of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.'

These were the words that John Lennon mumbled to himself, a lit pipe dangling carelessly from his fingers as his eyes (framed by round glasses) scanned the page of Pride and Prejudice, a much beloved (you could tell it was by the amount of creases) book of his that he had owned for a while, a gift from Ringo to him on his birthday last year. It was an old book, published long ago back in 1813, but Jane Austen was one of his favourite authors and he had read Sense and Sensibility and Emma many times over. She was quite a rare one, as not many female authors existed and he was amazed at how wonderfully she wrote. He hoped that Elizabeth and Mr Darcy would get together soon, though. The anticipation was killing him. 

Interrupting his reading, there was a soft, but urgent knock on his door and he jumped in fright, almost dropping his book to the floor as he gently set it upside down on the table in front of him and stood up. He knew who it was. 

"Ey, Stu. Come'ead." Opening the door with a gentle creak, he slipped his friend into his room and shut the door quickly and locking it, before turning to gaze back at his friend. "Wha's up?" The auburn-haired prince flashed a smile before going back to sit in his plush-looking seat and taking another drag of the pipe. There was silence hanging in the stuffy room, darkness shadowing Stuart's face and casting shadows over his cheekbones. The only light coming in was from the lace curtains hanging from the window, casting patterned early morning light into the dark room. 

"Uhm, well-" Stu cut himself off, voice slightly shaky as he shoved his hands into his pockets, muscles tense and jaw clenched slightly. "I jus'-" The dark-eyed boy lifted a hand to his forehead, rubbing it slightly with a grimace before speaking again. "Stand up." 

"Ye wha'?" John glanced up to gaze at his friend in confusion, pipe half hanging from his mouth. 

"Stand up, John."   
His friend's voice was quieter now, but more steady and determined. 

Blinking in confusion and slight wariness, the sixteen year old took out the pipe from his mouth and set it down, slowly standing up from the chair, before leaning on it and placing a hand on his hip. 

Silence once again.   
But it was suddenly broken as Stuart strided forward in one step and his familiar lips collided with John's, both sucking in a breath as the prince reeled back in shock slightly, muffled noise escaping as he was being pressed up against the wall before he could process anything. Instead of pulling out, though, he couldn't resist to run a hand through his friends' hair, both locked in a passion-filled kiss. 

"Wh-wh-" John quickly placed a hand on Stu's chest and gently shoving him away, disconnecting their lips. "Stu- I-" Their shallow breaths filled the air as both stood in silence, Stu's eyes fluttering slightly as they stared at each other. "Stu-" John huffed and ran a hand through his own hair. "We can't." 

"Why not? C'mon, it's not like ye got anythin' better ta do." Stu leaned forward and kissed at John's jaw, running them along it, the prince's eyes fluttering before he shoved his friend away, more harshly this time. 

"Because! I-I-I just-" He paused. "We can't keep sneakin' 'round like this! We-we agreed ta never do this again." The boy reached for the pipe and took a large drag, shivering as the smoke filled his lungs and exited through his nose. 

"Yeah.. I know, but-" Stu sighed, leaning against the wall beside John. "I still like ye. I wanna make this work." The painter moved forward until he was pressed up against him, looking up through his eyelashes into his friend's eyes. "Please, John. I miss ye. I miss us."

"Wha', bein' with a man?" John chuckled humourlessly, toying with Stuart's tie. "Sodomy? Homosexuality?" 

Stu looked down. 

"Look, I gotta go do sumthin' fer Mimi. I-I'll see ye later, yeah? Meet me back 'ere. 11pm, once Mimi's asleep." He placed a finger under his friend's chin and lifted his face, wiggling his eyebrows with a shit-eating grin. "Wha' d'ye say?" 

Letting out a giggle, Stu nudged the prince's arm, letting a grin paint across his face as he walked backwards slightly. "Alrigh'. See ye then, eh, Johnny?" 

"See ya." John couldn't resist to grasp Stu's tie and pull him in for another deep kiss, feeling the blackwood-haired boy smile into it before he pulled away.

"Okay, okay! Bye." Stu rolled his eyes, not being able to supress his grin before turning and opening the door, then shutting it and walking off, whistling as he faded into the distance. 

John plonked into the chair and stuffed his head into his hands with a groan. Fuck me with a bloody axe.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gamers !!! sorry sorry sorry for the wait omfg  
i got super caught up in shit and writer's block   
beat my fuckin ass so Yay for me lmaoo. i couldn't  
resist adding a john/stu part after watching backbeat  
oH my god i was like wow i gotta add some john/stu  
to the mix like damn.anyways i hope u enjoy !!!  
stay tuned for the next bit trust me i will update sooner  
ahhh nvfdjbdfkdbvdf oki bye <33


	5. four.

"Oh, stay still, John!" 

"Can't bloody help it! Th' shirt is too tight!- OW! Mimi!" John hissed as Mimi discreetly pinched his arm harshly, raising an eyebrow as a smirk played on the edges of her thin lips. 

"Language. Now, please stay still, I am trying to tie up your tie, which you refused to learn yourself, quite frankly. We are going to be late if you keep this up." She patted down the frilly pale blue shirt before pulling the tie tight until it was neat and straight. "Now, here is your coat, and your overcoat. Please put them on while I get the girls ready." She flashed a small smile before trotting out of the room. The prince listened to muffled voices as he slipped on the overcoat and smoothed it over, placing a golden brooch, depicting the king's crest, as he is always required to wear it at gatherings, and they were all sewn onto their large overcoats which were used only for travel and weren't worn inside. 

"I want to see him, Mimi." 

"No, absolutely not. John does not need an unstable person like you in his life."

What? John lifted his gaze to the door, frozen still for a few moments as he realised they were talking about him, listening to the muffled voices talking outside it. Who was that voice talking? And why was it strangely familiar but unfamiliar at the same time, bringing back sudden memories as if he found a childhood toy after many years?

_"Let me see John! Let me through!"_

_"I cannot let you, Julia! Ever since you betrayed us, running off with that peasant scum Alfred, you can never come back! You chose that life, it is your fault! You are no longer a part of the royal family. John is only five years old and already you are trying to ruin his life, again! Now go, and never come back!" _

_Bodies hustled near the doorway, Aunt Mimi's screaming voice ringing sharp through the unfamiliar marble floor and shiny wooden walls. Doors slammed, steps faded away. The young boy , crying helplessly as the loud noises terrified John before he felt warm arms wrapping around him, Uncle George and Mimi picking him up and holding him close, tears running down Mimi's cheeks as she whispered._

_"I will never let anyone hurt you again. Never." John buried his face into her chest. _

_"Never again."___

_ _"No. I am telling you, we sorted this many years ago. I have the girls ready for the ball, now I ask you politely to leave the premises before I have to bring in my security."_ _

_ _John was brought back to reality, ear pressed against the door as Mimi's voice rang harshly through the walls like it did all those years ago. _ _

_ _"Alright." The voice spoke eventually.   
There was a soft murmur of goodbye as the children cried out softly before there was gentle, but urgent footsteps click-clacking on the marble, fading into the distance and silence falling. He felt a sudden urge to fling open the door and run after his mother, but there was one thing keeping him standing stock still, ear still against the intricately-carved door, and he couldn't quite place what it was. _ _

_ _"Right, well, John! Are you ready yet?" Mimi raised her voice, as if John couldn't hear her crystal clear as she was standing right outside it, but he decided to answer, ducking to grab his overcoat before he opened the door, strutting out, lifting his arms as he presented himself to his half-sisters and auntie. _ _

_ _"Well? What'd'ye think?" _ _

_ _"Oh, John, don't slur your words like that. Well, you look very nice." Mimi patted John's cheek gently with a hint of a smile on her face, and John knew that, coming from Mimi, that was a very high compliment. _ _

_ _

_ _✧✧✧✧✧_ _

_ _

_ _Pigments of pinks, oranges, yellows, and purples mixed together like a painter's palette, creating a beautiful sight to behold as the sun sunk into the depths of the night.   
Nimble fingers twirled a loose string, pulling at the frayed edges of Paul's shirt. His doe, walnut-holly eyes reflected the colours of the sunset, eyelids drooped as tiredness hung on his posture, elongated eyelashes curling and brushing his freckled cheeks ever so slightly, licorice-coloured hair tousled and pointing this way and that. Sighing, he shuffled slightly as he sat in the grass, leaned up against a large oak tree, a book open in his lap but it had been forgotten long ago. It was one of the only books he had, really. They shared it with the family often. _ _

_ _"Paulie, c'mon, time fer dinner!" James called from inside the house, his voice wafting from the room to Paul's ears, though he didn't quite get up just yet. Just sitting there, all his worries faded from his mind and no one to bother him at all. It was a moment of peace, that he strived for most of his life. It wasn't often he could stop and just _be._  
He couldn't stop thinking about this prince 'John' George kept bringing up. Should he just submit and meet him? Or should he not? George keeps going on about how John isn't an arrogant selfish prick, and Paul didn't know if he should believe him. Was John really all what George said? Or was he just lying because John wanted another poor person to bully, and that he was only friends with George out of pity? God, this is so confusing. So much for peace and quiet.___ _

_ _ _ _"I'm comin'! Don' start without me!" Paul shook away the thoughts with a huff and leaped up, shutting the book before wading through the tall grass and going back inside._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _✧✧✧✧✧_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Ah fuck."_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Wha'?" Ringo rolled his eyes, resting his hand on John's shoulder as the two walked up towards the towering manor, many people walking alongside them and up the grand golden steps into the ball. Chattering filled their ears along with crickets chirping in the night as the inky sky hung above them, a slightly chilly breeze ruffling John's perfectly styled hair and caressing his cheek.   
"Look at all th' fookin' people! Chris', what am I gonna fuckin' do? I can't keep up a facade for tha' long!" John gestured to the hundreds of people who were scattered across the front gardens, not to mention the people inside.   
"Oh, ye'll be fine. Come'ead, let's go in!" His azure-eyed friend nudged his side before strutting forward towards the steps, dragging John behind him (who protested and struggled the whole way) until they stood before the looming, intricately-designed wooden doors which were painted black and waxed to be perfectly glossy.   
The borders of the doors were made of real gold and flowered across the whole door, creating detailed flowers and vines across it. In this case, they had been flung open, and they came in full view of the front room, adorned with glittering overhanging chandeliers, filling the room with a warm honeyed glow. Many paintings hung on the walls and the marble floor, which were made up of cream, pink and black colours, and it had been shined to a point where John could see his reflection almost perfectly. He stopped to check himself out in it, of course. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Righ'. Who's ball is this, anyroad?" John straightened to glance at Ringo, who shrugged as they walked up to the coat room, where a short, pudgy waiter took their coats with a smile before they moved to the entrance to the ballroom, where a pair of waiters were waiting to collect their invitations, which they handed to him._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Cynthia Powell's eighteenth birthday, your highness. Mr. Powell's daughter." The waiter spoke politely, having overheard John's comment, and John nodded with a fake smile before the double doors were opened, and lo and behold; the ballroom. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Holy shit." Were the words that Ringo muttered under his breath as they gazed into the room.  
The room had tens of chandeliers hanging from the roof, which had paintings from the Renaissance covered in it. And hanging right in the middle, covered in beautiful clear crystals and jewels, was a massive chandelier, candles burning bright from the holders. The room was alight with candles and lamps, paintings adorning the lovely wooden walls, but of course - the main spectacle was the people. Colours of every variation flew past John in a blur as people flew by with expensive jewels and accessories hanging from their necks and hands, laced and puffy dresses of every colour hanging from the women's bodies, hair done up in beautiful designs and their pale, smooth skin painted golden from the light. Detailed and silk suits were worn by the men, top hats adorning their heads and sideburns framing their faces. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _They were all perfectly synchronised in dance, twirling and gliding around the room, and in between them all, John could spot a young blonde-haired girl with a grin adorning her face, whose clothes stood out the most, a lovely puffy white dress with her hair done in a large bun with curls falling from it, many jewels decorating her pale neck. That must be Cynthia. There was a man, about her age, who was dancing with her, picking her up and twirling her around even, with a loud, happy giggle that filled the room in response. Wonderful orchestra music filled the room from the orchestra on stage, playing Symphony No.5 in C minor op. 67, - 4. Allegro by Ludwig Van Beethoven. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Wow." John spoke breathlessly, the two boys gazing at the room in absolute wonder. One thing he noticed, though, was that the people all turned to gaze at him as he was walking further into the room, knowing they had seen the King's crest placed on the breast of his suit and knew he was a part of the royal family. Feeling his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment at seeing so many eyes trained on him, he pushed through the dancing crowd and hurried over to where Mimi was, at the other end of the ballroom chatting up some other fancy people the prince didn't give a rats about. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Oh, there you are, John. Mr. Powell, this is my son, John."   
Mimi turned and flashed a smile at John, waving him over to come meet this person she was talking to. Giving a quick guilty smile and a murmured 'sorry' to Ringo, the auburn-haired boy strutted over, hands held behind his back, though they were fidgeting restlessly and already John was bored out of his mind._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Ah, hello, Mr Powell. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. What a lovely home you posses." John faked a smile once again, remembering last second to poshen his accent and hold out a hand to shake the other man's firmly. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Thank you, it is a pleasure to meet you as well. I trust you are enjoying yourself? Or have you just arrived?" The pudgy man smiled back, though had an indifferent expression on his face as he looked the boy up and down. John knew that Mr. Powell could tell he was a troublemaker, and quite franky he didn't care. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Oh, just arrived, sir. I certainly am enjoying myself right now, of course!" He chuckled humorlessly before turning to his aunt. "May I be excused? I just need to attend to the lavatory."_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Of course. Do not be too long, you are signed up to dance to the next song." Mimi patted his arm before he said his goodbyes to Mr Powell and he dashed out of there, noticing that Ringo was standing near the corner, talking to a woman he didn't recognise. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"'Ello, Rings. Who's this lovely lady, eh?" John dropped the accent immediately as he walked over to the two, placing a hand on Ringo's shoulder as he turned to look at the girl. Dark playful eyes stared back at him. plump lips lifted in a smirk. She was in a dark green silk dress with a puffy lower half and shoulders. The neck was quite low, though and she had green jewelry to accompany it. Her blackbird hair was done up in also a large bun, long curled pieces hanging and framing her face. John couldn't help it but let his eyes travel downwards before he felt a nudge against his side and a harsh whisper from Ringo; "back off, she's mine." _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"We were just goin' to th' bathroom. Care to join?" Ringo gave a wink as he let his arm snake around the girl's waist, who giggled slightly and leaned into it._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Would I!" John let a shit-eating grin paint across his face before the three darted into the hallway where some of the many bathrooms were situated. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"I'm Maureen by the way. Ringo told me you're the prince of Liverpool." Maureen raised an eyebrow at him, and John shrugged._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Yeah, wha' if I am?" _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Oh, y'know..." She trailed off and didn't finish her sentence, not looking at John and instead fixating her gaze on Ringo._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _They then slipped into the one at the very end, John slipping the lock closed before turning around only to see Maureen descending onto Ringo, the two locked in a passion filled kiss before they stumbled into the shower and the door was shut, so now John stood there having to listen to their moans and seeing their vague, blurry figures pressed against the sand-blasted glass. Of course he was left out of it, Ringo only invited him to be polite, he just wanted to get with Maureen. Letting out a huff, the prince jumped up to sit on the small amount of wooden bench next to the sink and rested his head against the wall, trying to shut out the noises as best as he could. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He felt as if something was missing. Like someone else was meant to be here, sitting beside him, or maybe he would be kissing them instead. Maybe the blonde girl Cynthia. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Well, see ye guys later. I'll be back outside, y'know.. if ye need.." He slowly slipped off the bench, looking to see if they were responding, but to no avail. Seems about right. He rolled his eyes and slipped open the lock, opening the door before going outside, slamming the door slightly with a glare and stomping away. Right, he needed to compose himself. He didn't want any more people to stare anyway. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Oh, John! I would like you to meet Cynthia. It's almost time for you two to dance." Mimi noticed her nephew walking along with his hands behind his back, his composure resigned to slight interest but reservedness so he wouldn't be approached._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Ah, hello mother. And hello, Miss Powell. It is a pleasure to meet you." He walked over and smiled at his mother before turning to the girl. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly and she softly grinned, cheeks flushing pink as her pinecone-chocolate eyes darted down to the floor. He let a half grin play on his lips as he set down on one knee and gently grabbed her hand and lifted it to press his lips onto it. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Well, it is a pleasure to meet you too, your highness." She lifted a hand to feel her cheek, their eyes locking together as they stared at each other, not moving from their positions._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Well, I will leave you to it." Mimi smiled contently, and John could tell she was happy with the match before the lady trotted away to talk to more people. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Righ', let's get ready to dance, yes?" His accent slipped through slightly as he stood up, lacing his fingers with the girl as they moved onto the ballroom floor, where couples were getting ready to dance to the next song. As it started to play, John placed one hand on her waist and the other laced with her hand before they started to move and sway._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"So, how are you enjoying the ball, Mr. Lennon?" _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Oh, it's just grand, eh? How does it feel to be eighteen?" John lifted an eyebrow and grinned, almost stepping on her feet as he struggled to keep up. He felt dresses brushing against his back as couples waltzed all around them, but all he could focus on is Cynthia and her beautiful face. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _She let out a laugh, throwing her head back and blinking her pretty eyes at John, and he felt his heart pick up speed and his cheeks flushing slightly. Wow. I wouldn't mind having her as a wife._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Oh, it is lovely. If I'm honest, it feels weird sometimes. It feels like yesterday I was just sixteen." She shrugged slightly, moving closer so their bodies were flush against each other as they danced._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"I know how ye feel. Mim- I mean, my mother, wants me to find a wife. I don't really know how I feel abou' it to be honest." The almond-eyed boy rolled his eyes slightly._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Well, there might be one closer than you think." The blonde raised an eyebrow._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Maybe there is." He sighed._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _I just don't know if I want one.___ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _✧✧✧✧✧_ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY YALL CKJDFVBKJFVKJF IM super proud of this chap i hope u guys enjoy it !!! i had such a fun time writing it AHH i love doing descriptions lmaoo. anyways, heyy johns met cynthia !!stay tuned for the next one, see yall later!! <33333


	6. five.

april 1858

"Oh, just grand, just lovely, Mr. McCartney!" 

"Why, yes, of course." The inky-haired boy pretended to take a delicate sip of tea with a loud slurp, causing George to blurt a strained noise before trying to compose himself, pretending to be a 'well accomplished person'. "Oh, my dear, this tea is quite splendid! Did you attain it from the springs of God almighty himself? It is quite delectable, I may just urinate." 

This, of course caused the younger to burst into laughter, leaning against Paul's arm as he struggled to keep quiet so he wouldn't be told off. 

"That's wha' he bloody sounded like! It was hilarious. What was 'e doin' in the marketplace anyroad?" Paul rolled his doe eyes as he felt a person shove into him from the side and he nearly toppled onto another person. Luckily George was there to grab him and pull him up before he fell.

"Who fookin' knows." 

The two of them were strolling in the marketplace, the spring sun shining down on their backs with strength. A small amount of stalls, mainly made of tarp and wood, were set up all across the street, the dirt road crunching under their feet as they gazed at the many stalls and products the market had to offer. People bustled all around them, and George had to clutch onto his friend's arm for them to stay together. Loud shouting pierced the two's ears as stall owners called "two cod fer a shillin'! two cod fer a shillin'!" and variations of that sort. The smell of fresh fish and various foods filled the two boys's noses, along with the smell of dust and sweat. There had just been a person who was obviously out of place there, a rich posh waiter who the two bumped into before he bolted, being chased by a gang who, by now, have probably beaten him to a pulp. 

"Aye, so what'd yer da' want ya ta get again?" George spoke after the two calmed down, and they continued walking, Paul fishing into his pocket for the list, which he had hastily scribbled before leaving. 

"Righ', sooo...some cod, some vegetables like carrots, celery, an' potatoes.. oh, again? Great." He sighed as he scanned the list. "I think tha's all we can afford righ' now." The boy glanced up, folding to put it in his pocket before pushing and shoving his way through the crowd towards the fish stall. A burly but short man was still calling out; "two cod fer a shillin'!" at the top of his lungs, his stall filled with fresh cod which was buried in quick-melting ice. Flies were swarming the fish, which couldn't be sanitary, but what could you do? Just wave them off every now and then, I guess.

"'Scuse me, mate." George spoke up as the two shoved their way to the front, catching the stall owner's attention from shooing away a stray cat which was trying to snatch a piece from the display. 

"Yeah? Wha'd'ye kids wan'?" The burly man raised an eyebrow, giving them a once-over and dismissing them as beggar kids, who would probably steal his fish if he wasn't careful.

"Some cod, please." Paul stuck a hand into his pocket to pull out a dusty shilling, presenting it to the shop owner with a hand on one hip and eyebrows raised. George raised his eyebrows and let a smirk peek from the edge of his mouth. Paul's getting his sass on.

"Righ', wha'ever. 'ere, kid. Now beat it." The man rolled his eyes before grabbing two entire cod's in one go and stuffing it into a paper bag before handing it over, snatching the shilling away with a grumble.

"Thank ye." Paul smiled exaggeratedly before turning away, strolling off with his head held high. 

"Wow, ye fookin' convinced 'im ta give ya some cod! Yer a genius, man!" His younger friend exclaimed with a shocked expression, hurrying to catch up with him before they continued their walk towards the vegetable stall. 

"One o' my many fine talents." He gave a small shrug with a smug smirk as his eyes searched the area for the stall. But suddenly, something sleek and black, reflecting the sunlight, caught his eye. It was a large piano, shiny and new, sleek black with striking white keys. 

_Oh. _

_"Good, good, James! Keep goin'!" Mary's melted-chocolate voice soaked Paul's ears. Long, nimble fingers played alongside small, chubby ones. He could see his father's proud face smiling down at him, the man leaning against the piano as he watched his wife and eldest son play piano. Six year old Mike clung onto his father's leg, watching his eight year old brother and mum play with wide eyes. _

_"Remember, it's a lot gentler an' softer..." She played the first few notes of Fur Elise with ease before turning to watch her son, who discordantly played the nnotes, but after a few tries, he completed the intro almost perfectly before he grinned excitedly at his parents with pure happiness on his face. _

_"My son. You are so talented, my boy.. 'm so proud." The pride only a loving parent could feel for their child was reflected in Jim's eyes. _

_"So, so proud."___

_ _Shaking away from the memory quickly, Paul blinked and rubbed his eyes to stop the sting of tears that he felt in the corners of his eyes. That was gone now. They no longer had a piano, they sold it soon after Paul turned eleven so the family could keep the house. And afford a proper doctor for Mary. Which didn't work, anyway._ _

_ _"Paulie? Ye okay?" George glanced to his friend with an expression of concern on his face, nudging his arm._ _

_ _Sighing, Paul kicked a nearby rock with his hands shoved in his pockets. _ _

_ _"Yeah; yeah, 'm fine."_ _

_ _

_ _✧✧✧✧✧_ _

_ _

_ _The swift, fast-paced notes of the Can Can by Offenbach filled the echoey, deserted room, where John was situated upon a piano chair, letting his fingers flow across the keys and create a beautiful song. His eyes were half-shut as the prince concentrated on remembering the chords. The pale afternoon sun shone through the large windows that faced the back gardens, the curtains tied back to let in natural light, which reflected on the smooth, dark wooden floor. On one end, towering bookshelves were put up against the wall, which were filled with textbooks and information on all sorts of things. On the other end, there were large velvet sofas and chairs that matched the rest of the house, and a coffee table and study desk in one corner. John spent a lot of time here, for study and playing the piano, and watching the gardeners work out in the fields and stable boys taking the horses back and forth from the stables and the paddocks. _ _

_ _He realised then that he hadn't gone for a horse ride in a while, him being so caught up in his studies, and so many other things popping up in his life that he just hadn't found the time. Letting out a huff of air, the almond-eyed boy stopped his playing and gently closed the lid, before leaning on it and resting his head in his hands. The boy felt incredibly lonely. He hadn't been able to bed a man for a long time, or a woman for that matter, ever since Stu had found that Astrid girl he had been left to the sidelines and now is all alone. Yes, he does have Cynthia, but.... it doesn't feel the same. He loves her, but.. he isn't truly satisfied. He still feels as if something is missing, one little thing. He can be happy with a woman, yes, but there's just that tiny little thing that swallows his mind. _ _

_ _"Sire?" There was a quiet, but firm knock on the door, interrupting his thoughts with a jump. "Your highness? Cynthia Powell is here to see you." Mr. Epstein's voice came from the other side of the door._ _

_ _"Ah, yes, I have been expecting her. Please come in." John lifted his head from the piano and rested his hands on his knees, fidgeting with a loose thread anxiously. There was silence for a moment, before the door was opened swiftly, before Mr. Epstein and Cynthia strolled in, the girl all dressed up in a lovely dark red dress that accentuated her pale skin. _ _

_ _"Lunch will be ready in about half an hour, I will return in due time to escort you and Miss Powell to the dining room." The young waiter informed._ _

_ _"Of course. Thank you, Bri- Mr. Epstein." John stuttered slightly, feeling his cheeks flush red as he slipped up. There was something that flashed in the waiter's eyes, expression reflecting a knowing look as he subtly scanned the boy up and down before he nodded and turned away, shutting the door behind him. _ _

_ _"Hello, John." Cynthia gave a soft smile as the boy scooted over and let the blonde sit down beside him. He felt a tickle on the side of his neck as the older girl rested her head on John's shoulder with a grin, snuggling closer as he wrapped an arm around her waist. _ _

_ _"Hi, Cyn."_ _

_ _"Playing some piano, are we?" She flicked her gaze up to look in his face, John locking eyes with her before they shared a brief kiss. _ _

_ _"Yeah, jus' some Can Can. Nothin' special." He lifted the cover again and placed his fingers on the keys, ready to play. "Care to join?" He was hoping to distract her so she wouldn't ask any questions about why he was so anxious. Even though they hadn't known each other for very long, she could already tell when he was in a bad mood. She was good at reading him, he was like an open book to her, at least. Only her, George and Ringo could see his true emotions. To everyone else he was basically a high-security jail, never to be opened, only by himself and himself only. _ _

_ _"Of course." She flashed him a loving smile, before the two of them started to play, John playing the higher keys as they dueted the song, their rhythm matching almost perfectly in time as the two played a well-learned song together. Before they knew it, the song was over and there was that silence again. That silence that John dreaded so badly, knowing what it would lead to and not wanting it to happen. _ _

_ _"Let's play another one-"_ _

_ _"John." _ _

_ _The silence again. _ _

_ _"Yes, Cyn?" He glanced at her briefly before standing up, moving away and picking up the textbooks he had left on the study desk when he abandoned it to play piano. _ _

_ _"What's wrong? I can tell you're upset."_ _

_ _"'m not. 'm fine." He kept his voice steady as he turned to look at the girl. "See?" He flashed one of his fake smiles and pointed to it. _ _

_ _The cocoa-eyed girl let out a sigh, rubbing her forehead as she watched John move around the room, picking up and fiddling with things here and there, when there was nothing really for him to clean. "Why can't you just be honest with me?" _ _

_ _"What? I am. 'm fine, as I said before. Why can't ye jus' believe me and drop the bloody thing?" The prince became more and more irritated, his movements becoming more strained as John struggled not to lose his temper. _ _

_ _"Are you sure? If you have anything to talk about, I'm here-" _ _

_ _"Yes, 'm sure. Now stop botherin' me abou' it." He dropped his coat on top of the piano before glaring at his girlfriend, turning and stomping off to the writing desk, plonking down in the large seat before grabbing one of his textbooks and pieces of paper and pretending to get to work._ _

_ _There was silence for a while, neither of them speaking, until there was shuffling coming from behind, and a pair of warm, pale arms wrapped around his chest, Cynthia nestling her face into the crook of his neck. He sat there for a moment, not moving as his muscles tensed before he relaxed, moving into the older girl's touch with a sigh.  
There wasn't any use in fighting. They loved each other, and there were so many stresses going on in each of their lives, they didn't need any more piled on top. _ _

_ _"Your highness? Miss Powell? Lunch is about to be served." There was a gentle knock. Wow, 30 minutes had flown by._ _

_ _"Thank you, Mr. Epstein, we will be there in a moment." John called, before there were steps walking off._ _

_ _"Let's go to lunch, yes? I heard your stomach growl." Cynthia raised her eyebrows at her partner, before they stood up, John patting his stomach and hearing another loud growl. _ _

_ _"Yeah, 'm fookin' starvin'." _ _

_ _

_ _✧✧✧✧✧_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gamers !!! hope yall enjoy this chap, sorry took a bit to get out. its getting closer and closer to the ball!!! ahh im super excited :')) i dont have much to say other than i hope yall enjoyed this chap and stay tuned for the next one !!! ily all sm and see yaa <3333


	7. six.

june 1858

"'appy birthday, mate!" George held out a jar-shaped object with a grin, which was poorly wrapped in old newspaper. "'ere's yer presen'." 

"Aye, thanks!" Paul's eyes widened with shock before the freshly-turned sixteen year old reached out a hand and took it from his friend. David watched on with excited eyes. The three were sitting cross-legged in the single bedroom of Paul's house, the cold, hard stone floor harsh against them. There had just been a gathering for his birthday (though not much had happened, just his immediate family and his two friends eating some special food and talking and Paul getting some money) before the three young boys disappeared to the next room.

"Woah, mate! A jar o' honey, thanks!" The doe, forest-eyed boy gasped in slight shock, eyes wide. Honey was quite expensive and something they didn't have often. "Ye didn't 'ave ta..." Paul felt guilt rise in his chest slightly as he gazed at his dark-eyed friend in gratitude.

"Nah, nah. It's yer birthday, mate. 'm fine wi' spendin' a bit more." George smirked out of the corner of his mouth, eyes shining kindly at his best friend. 

"I got sumthin' fer ye too, Paul!" David's eyes lit up with recognition before he started to rummage through his pockets. "Sorry, isn't much. Da' didn't let me buy anythin'." The multi-coloured-eyed boy smiled sadly and held out a hand, where about five shillings were. 

"Ye didn' even 'ave ta get me anythin' at all... thanks, Bowie." Paul gave another joyful smile as David dropped the few shillings into Paul's hand. "I can buy some sweets wi' this!!" 

"Let's go steal yer dad's whiskey, yeah? Let's 'ave a party like them rich people do!" David raised an eyebrow, mischief spread across his face. 

"Yeah, Paul! Let's do tha'!" George brightened with a grin, jumping up and helping the two boys to their feet. There was something that flashed in George's eyes, and Paul could almost feel what was coming. "Can I invite John, or-"

"No. It's my birthday. I decide." His mood soured considerably, the boy turning away and strutting off. "Let's go get Ringo an' get some drinks." 

They didn't talk much on the walk there. David and Paul chatted to each other for a bit, George walking a few metres behind with a crestfallen expression, hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched slightly. But afterwards, the three just trekked in silence, pushing past people in the crowded dirty streets before turning a corner, which took them to the richer part of the city. The streets became cleaner and everything more polished, the people more distinguished and proper.

"Aye, 'ere's his store." The three boys spotted the store from metres away, the bright store with a sign that spelt "Starkey's Fruits And Vegetables" , and the walls had been painted a lovely yellow. People were crowding to get into the store, which was expected since the Starkey's had one of the best shops in the city, and was extremely popular, their produce being of the finest caliber and for a reasonable price. There was a yell from a familiar voice; "'scuse me, please! Sorry!" as Ringo was squeezing his way out the front doors and through the crowd towards the alleyway to the left. 

"Aye, Ringo!" Paul called out loudly to catch the older boy's attention, in which he was successful and the jay-eyed boy spotted them, before hurrying over with a grin growing on his face. 

"Paul! David! George!!" He emphasised George's name as he pulled the younger into a crushing hug, ruffling his hair. George's cheeks flushed deep red and he turned away, reaching to rub at the back of his neck. Paul noticed with a raised brow, but decided not to act on it. "'appy birthday, Paulie!" Ringo pulled his friend into a hug, Paul squeezing him back with a giggle. "Got yer presen'!" The shorter man pulled out a small basket, which inside held fresh bread and different jams, and several bananas and apples, along with a pound and a few shillings.

"Oh my fuck, Ringo! This is so much, ye didn' 'ave ta, thank ye so much-"

"Oh, c'mon, it's nothing. So? How's it feel ta be sixteen?"

"'m a big man now. I feel strong!" Paul held up an arm and pretended to flex with a growl, proud expression on his face. "'m gonna beat ye all in wrestlin'!"

There was silence for a few seconds as they all stared at him, the same expression on each of their faces. Then they all burst out in raucous laughter, which echoed in the street and caught the attention of a few passersby, so they shut up quickly, beginning to walk back to Paul's house to have the party.

"I think ye should jus' stick ta pullin' chicks, Paul." George chortled. 

"Yeah, well at least I can pull 'em in th' first place."

"An' yer sayin' I can't??"

"Yep."

"Wanker."

✧✧✧✧✧

Smoke billowed from thin lips and faded into the late night air. Almond eyes fluttered as John yawned quietly, the boy leaning against the shiny black railings of the large balcony, dressed in sleepwear and taking puffs from a pipe. He loved the silence of the night. It was a hobby of his to sit out on the balcony late at night, pushing his legs through the poles of the rails and hanging them off the edge, and to listen to the sounds of the night. Crickets chirping, the distant calls of owls and birds. Rustling occasionally, as deer would move about in the forest next to their manor. 

The prince let out a loud sigh as he slowly crouched down and sat, pushing his legs as usual through the gaps and hanging off the edge, letting his body rest against the poles and relaxing his muscles with a shaky huff. 

"What are you doing up so late, your highness? You will catch your death!" Mr Epstein's voice calling from the doorway interrupted his thoughts with a jump. 

"Could say th' same fer you." John spoke after a moment.

"Nevermind me. And please do not sit so close to the edge, it is dangerous." There was the sound of quiet, barefooted steps behind the boy as Brian came closer.

"Alrigh." The boy shrugged and slid away from the edge, pulling his legs from the gaps and slowly standing up, before leaning against the railing again, all the while not glancing at the waiter behind him.

There was a slightly tense silence between them as the older man slowly walked over, leaning against the rails beside John.

"How are you faring?" Brian spoke eventually, eyes softening as he gazed at the prince.

"Good. Alrigh'. Fine, y'know th' deal." 

"Yes, I understand..." The man trailed off

"Brian." John turned to face the waiter finally, his expression unreadable.

"Yes, your highness?" Brian glanced at him.

"I... I dunno. I mean, I guess I do." The boy slid forward, closer to the man until he clutched the man's arm. There was a knowing look on the boy's face, eyes knowing and a smirk half playing. 

"M-...Mr. Lennon..." Brian's cheeks flushed deep red, eyes darting from side to side. "Not right now, please."

"Why not? I missed our... talks.."

"John, stop." The waiter gently pushed John away, face stern. "Mimi is near, she could wake."

"Who fuckin' cares?" John rolled his almond eyes with a sigh, tugging on the older man's tie to pull Brian closer.

"I do. Now, go to bed please, your highness, it is late." The man sucked on his bottom lip before moving away, turning and hurrying off before something would happen again and they would be caught.

"Brian!" The boy called, but there was no answer.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gamers !! hope u enjoy this chap, sorry its shorter than usual i just needed to get this out bc i wanna get to the better partsand im gonna be too busy to write for a bit, so yea. hope yall enjoy see ya later !! <333


	8. seven.

october 1858

"Choose th' green suit, John. Suits ye better." George leaned, nonchalant against the large wooden bedpost as the lanky boy chewed on a piece of carrot, eyes dark but with a hint of playfulness as he watched his friend pace frantically around the room, periodically running a hand through his hair (which had gone awry and stuck up in many places). 

"No, no, no, th' grey one suits th' ball better, like, th' colour suits it better, y'know?" John shook his head quickly. 

"Then choose the grey one." Ringo piped up from the overly large mattress, where he was lying splayed and smoking a pipe, watching his friend with amusement shining in his puppy eyes.

"No, I can't, it'll be too dark, th' green stands out more!" John groaned throwing his head back and rubbing his eyes profusely. "I can't fookin' decide, mate!" 

"Then jus' randomly pick one, it's not a big fookin' deal like yer makin' it out ta be. C'mon, I wanna go get me own suit too!"

"An' mine!" Ringo raised his eyebrows. "C'mon, Johnny. Jus' pick one." he gestured to the two silk suits that were displayed on the bed next to the older boy. The three had narrowed the large amount of suits John owned to just two, and they had been bouncing back and forth for the last 20 minutes. The midday sun came streaming in from the curtained windows, highlighting John's anxious almond eyes, his unkempt hair turned a flaming red, eyelashes casting shadows across his pale cheeks. 

"Fine, fine. Alrigh'." The prince rolled his eyes before shutting them and pointing frantically between the two before suddenly stopping, his finger pointing to the green suit as he opened them. "Okay, green one." They all stood in silence for a few moments. 

"So?" Ringo raised an eyebrow.

"Y'know, maybe the grey one migh' work better-"

"Oh, shut up." George rolled his eyes, grabbing his restless friend's arm and guiding him out of the room, Ringo trailing behind as he hummed a tune, still taking puffs of the pipe. 

"John! There you are. Have you picked out your suit for the event? You need to choose the flowers, we are still setting up in the ballroom." Mimi turned from speaking to the servants as she spotted her nephew, strided over and started to guide the boy to the ballroom, George and Ringo following awkwardly a few metres behind with their hands in their pockets. 

"Righ' well...." The boy stared at the three different vases with different arrangements of flowers displayed, brows furrowed in confusion. "Why do the flowers.... matter?"

"John." Mimi gave him a stern look, whacking him slightly on the arm.

"Alrigh', alrigh'. The begonia one."

"No, those do not match! Honestly, John." Mimi huffed. "The anthuriums are much, much better." The queen pointed to the third vase, filled with a selection of different red and white flowers, representing happiness, prosperity and new beginnings. "These ones are perfect for it. These ones are the ones we would like, thank you." Mimi smiled at the decorator, who nodded politely and wrote them down in a book before hurrying away. 

"Ye coulda jus' done tha' without me but wha'ever." John rolled his eyes. 

"Don't slur your words like that. And yes, I know, but I needed your input beforehand." Mimi sighed, before turning to strut off at a quick pace towards the front room, but motioning John to follow. "Have you picked your suit?"

"Yes, Mimi. The green one." 

"Excellent. We now have the tables, flowers, food and drinks prepared. And the guests, of course... and, uhm-" as she walked the two entered the large kitchen, where cooks were darting back and forth writing down notes and counting food supplies. "The orchestra has been hired, but they need to rehearse, but I think that is all." She sighed, calling the head chef over to start discussing the meals.  
John looked on stiffly, rubbing a hand over his forehead, before slowly backing off and walking away. This was all too stressful for him, the amount of pressure Mimi was putting on the boy, just for a masquerade.. he didn't know why she was acting this way about it, they've thrown plenty of balls before.. why was she being like this? Maybe because he has to find a wife to take Mimi's place as queen, or something... yeah, probably that. If anything, he already found Cynthia. I guess now he will have to show her off or something stupid like that. It is the last ball Mimi is hosting, too... she probably wants to make it count.

"Eh, John?" George's voice cutted through his thoughts from behind him and he jumped, eyes wide as he flipped around, before relaxing as he saw it was his two friends. "Woah, sorry fer scarin' ya there, mate."

"It's alrigh'. Uhm, let's go, yeah? I got some chocolates I stole from Mimi, we can go sit by th' lake-"

"Oh, uhm... sorry, John, bu' I gotta go. I promised I'd help Paulie get a suit today, an' I need me own." George shrugged, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "See ye guys later! Probably a' th' ball next." He gave a grin and waved, walking backwards before hurrying away.

"See ye, George!" Ringo called with a grin, watching the younger walk away. 

"See ya." John sighed.

"Come'ead, Johnny. Let's go eat those chocolates." Ringo slapped the prince's shoulder with a grin.

"Hell yeah."

✧✧✧✧✧

"An' why do I 'ave ta come ta this ball again?" The raven-haired boy grumbled, the two scooting hastily across the clean pavement, dodging passersby as they searched for the only suit shop in the entire city where they could get secondhand suits, since that was all they could afford. The people passing by the two scrunched their noses at the dirty pair, unkempt and beaten compared to the elegantly-clad gentlemen and ladies coming in and out of shops. They were used to having higher-class people turn up their noses at them, so they continued to hurry along unaffected.

"Because, Paul! I need a plus one, so I chose ye! C'mon, it'll be fun, we can even steal somethin' if ye wan'." The sharp-cheekboned boy grinned widely as he nudged Paul, who had given a hint of a smile at the prospect. "Eyy, see? I knew ye'd want ta."

"Fine, maybe tha' would be alrigh'. I'll do it fer ye, okay? Jus' know 'm doin' this fer ye. So ye owe me." They spotted the store, which looked fairly more beat down and aged compared to the rest of the shops.

"Yeah, I owe ya." They pushed the door open, a bell above being triggered and giving a ring. The shop was small and compact, many coat racks filled with suit blazers and tailcoats, along with tables covered in folded pants and shirts. Paul wondered how they managed to fit this many clothes in a tiny shop such as this.

"Righ', uhh.. let's start wi' shirts?"

By the end of the shopping spree, the two had picked a deep blue tailcoat and a matching shirt, bowtie, vest and trousers to go along with it for Paul. Along with an ink black, intricately-designed mask topped with glitter and feathers sprouting from the top. George got a dark grey suit with a grey and white feathered mask, and they were happy with their selection. Paul would borrow his father's dress shoes to wear. 

"That's 15 pounds, please." The stout old man gave a warm smile to the young boys, holding out a weathered hand as Paul placed 16 pounds in it, all the money he had.

"Keep th' change." Paul grinned, seeing the man's eyes light up and he grinned wider, placing it in the register.

"Why, ya boys are so kind! Special event, eh?" The man inquired as he slipped the clothes into a brown paper bag.

"We're gonna party with th' royals." George shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a grin peeking out the corner of his lips. 

There was a guffaw of laughter as the man handed the bags over, shaking his head. "Well, have fun with tha'. Good day!" 

They waved him off before strolling out of the store, both feeling like new men, finally having obtained proper suits, even if they were secondhand and slightly worn out. 

"Well, we got tha' sorted. Who's up fer doughnuts? I got a pound I found in th' gutter."

"Ye read my mind, Geo!" The two set on their mission. 

✧✧✧✧✧

It was the day of the ball.

The afternoon sun shone through the singular window, highlighting the many dust particles floating in the air around the two boys.

"George, I can't do me fookin' bowtie, I'm goin' bonkers!" The sixteen-year-old groaned, the two of them standing in the lounge room-slash-kitchen. There was a single, cracked mirror tacked to the wall, and the two were getting ready for the masquerade, which started at seven on the dot. Nervous was one way to put how they were feeling. Paul's hands shook as he struggled to tie his bowtie, never having been taught, so he didn't know. His heart races fast in his chest, anxiety bubbling in his throat at the prospect of having to attend a royal masquerade. 

"Look, uh- here, lemme do it fer ya. Me da' taugh' me a few years ago." The younger stopped buttoning up his vest and reached around behind his friend to his bowtie, tongue poked out slightly, face taut with concentration as George tied Paul's tie with precision. 

"Wow, yer fookin' talented, mate!"

"Thank ye, I try." George chuckled as he tightened it and stepped away, going back to doing up his vest and getting his own bowtie. 

"Boys, are ye ready yet?" Jim opened the backyard door and trudged in, breath shallow as he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, Mike following behind. They had been working out in the farm for a bit with the Ashers, since it was peak harvesting season, they had been harvesting crops for about two days straight. The two boys were let off from chipping in. Well, because of the masquerade, of course. 

"Yeah, almost, da'. When's th' carriage gonna be here?" Paul inquired as he slipped on his tailcoat, buttoning that up as well before starting on his shoes. 

"In about five minutes, if 'm correct. Ye boys better hurry up." Jim pointed his finger sternly, and the two started to pull on their clothes quicker. 

"'ello, Mr. McCartney." Jane slipped in through the backdoor, giving a polite wave and smile before starting to walk down the back hallway towards the staircase to their home upstairs.

"Wait, Jane!" Paul called out, hurrying away with one shoe on, following after his crush. 

"Oh, 'ello Paul. Wha' is it?" The girl turned around, heart-shaped face framed by tangerine locks tied in a tight bun. Her pale face kissed by freckles, plump lips pulled in a half-smile. 

"Uhm...." The boy trailed off, coughing slightly as his cheeks and tips of ears burned red, gaze darting to the floor. "I-I wanted ta say bye. Uh-" He paused again, reaching to rub at the back of his neck. "Maybe I could see ye sometime later?"

"Oh.." The girl blinked, her grin growing wider as her gaze darted to the floor, gazing back up at him through her lashes. "Tha' would be lovely." 

"Y-Yeah." Paul couldn't help but grin, the two falling silent as they gazed at each other, eyes reflection the same emotion. 

"Paul! Stop harassin' Jane! We're gonna miss th' fookin' carriage! C'mon!" George's frantic and exasperated voice called from the other room, the sound of a horse clonking on the dirt road, dragging a carriage behind becoming louder and louder.

"Oh, coming!" Paul called, feeling his heart jump again as he started to hop back to the room behind him, not wanting his shoeless foot to get dirty. "Uhm-see ye, Jane!" He called with a grin to her, before his shoe, mask and overcoat was shoved in his hands and he was ushered out. 

"Oh- goodbye!" Jane called, rushing to the front door to watch George shoving Paul into the carriage, who was protesting as he struggled to pull his shoe on. 

"Be safe, Paul! Be home by midnight sharp, please!" Jim called. 

"Yeah, yeah, da we will! See ya!" Paul called before the cart started to pull away. Paul gave a sigh as he finished tying his shoelace, and slumped in his seat, the carriage rocking and bumping across the uneven road towards the palace. 

"God, ye coulda kept it in yer pants til' tomorrow, Paulie. We almos' missed th' carriage!" George rolled his eyes, shoving his friend, though playfully.

"Yeah, yeah, wha'ever." Paul huffed, slipping on his overcoat and picking his mask up from where it fell to the floor. The doe-eyed boy gazed at it in apprehension and slight awe, the feathers tickling his forehead as the boy slowly slipped it on. "Tie it fer me?" Paul turned around to let George tie it. Afterwards, Paul turned back around and gazed at himself in the small mirror in front of him, hanging on the wooden wall. 

"This is really happenin', eh?" George raised an eyebrow, checking himself out in his own mirror with amazement.

"Yeah." Paul gulped. "It really is."

_God, I'm gonna fucking die.___

_ _

_ _✧✧✧✧✧_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gamers !!! sorry for this slow update, but hey the balls bouta happen so!!!!! aHHHH im so excited that chapter is gonna be super duper long so be prepared teehee. anyways hope u enjoy this chapter wOOOP im excited !! see ya <3333


	9. eight.

october 1858

"Well, this is it, mate! Th' Smith royal palace."

"Wait. Then why's John's las' name Lennon?"

"I dunno, don't ask me, man!" George threw up his hands as the lanky boy hopped out of the carriage and dusted off his torso, Paul following behind, his entire posture anxious as he fussed over his new, and quite frankly, uncomfortable suit. It felt so new and smooth on his skin, being used to plain cotton or denim. He didn't like it very much. 

The entire street was lit up with wonderful warm glow. The matte black front gates, which instead of looming large and closed, was flung open, leaving the laneway clear to walk through. Lush green gardens cut perfectly into shapes, depicting swans, circles and squares, along with bunches of roses and many flowers stretching far across either side. Marble and limestone sculptures painted with gold stood proud and tall, fallen angels with flowing robes, accompanied by large detailed fountains with gold and black patterns, clear water falling like rain into the pool. 

"Oh my fucking god." Paul breathed in complete awe and literal amazement, eyes shining with wonder and marvel at just the garden alone. 

Don't even get me started on the house - it stood looming with immense size, the lovely sandstone and marble walls shining in the moonlight, windows glinting but glazed to the point where no one can see in, but the people inside can see out. Four broad pillars standing at the front of the manor, massive black and golden doors also wide open to reveal a large greeting room with warm, inviting light bursting through. But what was really catching the two's eyes were the people.  
Gentlemen and women, absolutely everywhere. Expensive clothes of every kind, all colours and sizes. Expensive jewellery, long velvet shawls that just brushed the ground and silk gloves to match the women's puffy dresses which were decorated with flounces and lace, along with silky hair tied up in a large bun, framing their pale, smooth faces that had cold, reserved and snobby expressions, which quite ruined their entire physique in George and Paul's eyes. The men had smooth, muted-coloured, long-tailed coats and matching tight fitting trousers and dress shoes underneath, large bow ties and tall top hats and many different sideburn shapes. All of them sported masks of all shapes, sizes and colours, most having been decorated with glitter, feathers and gold. They, too, had cavalier and indifferent expressions, eyes flashing with contempt as the many men and women spotted the two boys. Yes, they may be wearing similar clothes to the accomplished people who were attending the ball, but it was outdated, and clearly had tears and loose thread at the ends due to it being secondhand, and along with their expressions of uncomfortableness and fear, it was obvious that they did not belong.

"We do not belong 'ere." Paul verbalised their thoughts, the two inching closer together and muttering under their breaths.

"Damn righ'. C'mon, jus' try an' act.... posh, or somethin'. Let's jus' get inside." George hissed back, and the two straightened and stepped apart, puffing out their chest and resting their hands behind their back, trying to look at ease and also posh-looking. They failed, of course, but they grew to not care as the two made their way, albeit nervous and excited, up the marble steps towards the entrance.

"This place never fails ta amaze me." George mutters. "Even though I bloody work 'ere with me da', it still freaks me ou' sometimes."

The warm glow of the many candles and lamps washed the two in light, accentuating their most prominent features and colouring their pallid, malnourished skin. 

"Your invitations, please, sirs." The two waiters who stood at the ballroom doors greeted them with a polite nod and one held out a hand to take their invitations. 

"Wh- I didn't bring mine-" Paul hissed to his friend with wide eyes, not knowing what to do in this situation, of course.   
The only ball the boy had gone to was back when he was ten, with George and his family, his mother alive and healthy, the family having gone to a small ball at a theatre. It was one of his most treasured memories. It was small and informal, to celebrate a distant relatives birthday. There was loud, unfiltered chatter and booming laughter all around, jolly music bringing up their spirits immediately, all of them clapping and laughing along as they danced back and forth, mixing and matching and not having a single care in the world. His people. It was truly magical.

"It's okay, I got it. I knew ye'd forget th' invitation." George seemed to have had it under control, since he worked at the palace and had seen many balls and masquerades being thrown before.

"Wait.... if yer a waiter, then why are ye attendin' th' ball an' not helpin' ou'?" Paul;s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, once again.

"I got let off. This is also me firs' masquerade 'm attendin'." George shrugged with a grin as he handed over the invitations, the waiters nodding again before reaching and opening the looming doors to reveal the ballroom.   
It was similar to the front garden; packed with royally-dressed people adorned with masks, but instead of strolling around and chatting idly, they were in dance, twirling and frolicking on the smooth red and white marble floors, but equally as many people were watching on or chatting amongst themselves. Again, Paul felt his heart sink slightly, cheeks burning as he struggled not to just make a run for it right then and there. It was all so new and quite exciting - but at the same time horrible and unfamiliar. Cold and unforgiving everyone was, too much money to handle and too little care for anyone else in the world.

Paul hated the lot of them. Dining on lavish, expensive foods, wearing the finest clothing and owning mansions of the highest caliber, barely having to work a day in their lives for anything they possess. All while everyone he knew and loved slaved away every day of their lives just to make a few shillings a day. Mike started working at six years old for christ's sake! It disgusted him, truly disgusted Paul, that these... these people could just do this and not even care. Not even a little bit. 

"Ye righ', Paul? 'Elloooo??" George waved a hand in front of his friend's face, who snapped out of it quickly with a jump, thoughts interrupted.

"Oh, sorry Georgie. Uh, let's go, yeah?" Paul nodded to the crowd, and they set off around the dancing circle and further into the room. The raven-haired boy couldn't stop staring at the roof, which was high above them and definitely unreachable, unlike Paul's home where the t0p of his hair brushes against the ceiling. Gold swirling patterns covered the roof, framing Renaissance paintings that had been painted long ago back in the 14th-17th centuries, but still stood in perfect condition to this day. 

How the hell can people live in this place? It's a fucking castle.

"Oh my." A haughty voice came from behind them and the two boys flipped around in shock. A lady with a wide, puffy red silk dress and blue mask looked down upon them with a bored and slightly disgusted expression, as if she had spotted a small, ugly stain on the edge of her dress. "Are you sure you two....boys are in the right place?" A sickly sweet smile danced on her face, and the two leaned back slightly, Paul feeling rage start to bubble in his chest as he struggled not to speak.

"Hush, Mrs. This is one of the servant's son, who was allowed to attend this ball after looking after so many previously. This is his...friend, he was allowed to bring along." Refraining from mentioning names, Mimi's voice cut in sternly, coming to rest a hand on the woman's shoulder and introduce the two boys. She stood out from the rest with a red, white and gold dress that stood massive, billowing from her tiny waist to the floor, the King's crest placed on the breast of her dress, pure golden mask sitting on the bridge of her thin nose. She was the only one who people were allowed to know, everyone else had to remain secret. 

It was the Queen. The actual Queen of Liverpool, standing right in front of Paul. 

George seemed unaffected, due to him having seen her many times. But Paul.... he felt a rage. An unexplainable, insane rage as if he wanted to strangle the woman right then and there until the life drained from her eyes. This woman was the root of all his problems. She may not have set up the entire system, but she was keeping it in power. This.. system that had ruined so many lives and kept the rich on top, no way for the poor to escape the cycle of being born, half of the babies dying of diseases, working, then maybe dying of malnourishment or a disease at a young age. Not many poor people could live past fifty. 

"You." His voice was deep but hoarse, eyes flashing with fury as his expression darkened. 

George knew something was bound to happen, seeing his friend's stance and he quickly spoke up, reaching to pinch Paul's side tightly as he started to guide him away.

"My apologies, your majesty, Mrs, Master here isn't faring so well at the moment, we will just be going to freshen up, excuse us." George gave a polite, but fake smile before he hurried away, practically dragging Paul, who was seething with wrath and ready to murder everyone in the room. Steam was practically spilling from his ears. "Paul, hey, look at me, mate!" George hissed in annoyance, shoving Paul through the crowd and into the powder room. "Paul!"

"She-she-" Paul licked his lips, tears building in his eyes as he shoved George away with more force than intended, the lanky boy stumbling into the wall. "Don' fuckin' touch me! Tha' was th' fookin' Queen o' Liverpool, fer chris's sake! Sh- she- she's s responsible-- fer e'ry'thin'." His words became more slurred as he struggled to get them out, tears falling from his eyes down his cheeks, fists clenched so hard they turned white.   
"'ow can ye work fer 'er? This-" He gestured to the bathroom crazily. "Is th' reason why I can' sleep a' nigh', stayin' up ta comfort me brother while 'e cries in fuckin' pain because we didn' 'ave enough food ta feed 'im. I-I jus'-" He takes a deep breath and cuts himself off, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes with a groan, pulling off the mask harshly.  
"'m sorry, I can' be 'ere anymore. I 'ave ta go." 

"Paul." George breathed after a few moments of tense silence. "I... I know. I know." The boy's eyes flashed with memories, having experienced similar problems to Paul, dealing with the same problems daily. George dug his sharp fangs into his bottom lip, eyes shining with grief over his sisters that had died in the Cholera outbreak in 1848.   
"'m sorry." Silence. Paul felt the anger dissipate from his body, and he relaxed with a sigh. He had George. He had gone through the same things Paul did, he knew what it was like. At least he had him. "Jus' - a few more minutes, we jus' got 'ere, we don't wanna look suspicious. Then we can go. We can skip th' dinner." He stepped forward and rested a comforting hand on Paul's shoulder with a small smile. 

"Alrigh'. Let's jus' sit somewhere near th' back." Paul pulled his friend into a warm hug, the two squeezing each other tightly for a moment before pulling back and wiping their eyes, turning to leave the powder room, thanking the gods that no one had come in during that whole ordeal. Paul remembered to slip on his mask before they exited.

Once the two had found a spot to sit, they both sunk into chairs with a sigh, Paul adjusting his mask before reaching underneath and rubbing his eyes again, when no one was looking. The music started up again with a flourish, another dance beginning and people starting to dance. George hummed along to it, both sitting in silence and just enjoying the music.

"Hey, Paul! George!" A familiar voice sounded suddenly and they both flicked their gaze up to meet Ringo's shining gaze.

"Oi, Rings!" Paul grinned widely, the two leaping up, George running and crashing into Ringo's awaiting embrace, the two hugging tightly with a giggle. Until it became a few seconds too long and they hadn't parted.

Paul noticed, of course, and raised an eyebrow, smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he coughed gently. The two pulled apart hastily with a cough, realising what they had done as they darting their gaze to the floor, cheeks flushing red. Letting out a chuckle, the doe eyed boy briefly hugged Ringo and the moment was forgotten.

"Ey, so how are you guys enjoyin' this? It's fun, eh?" Ringo grinned widely, twirling around and holding his hands up, gesturing to the ballroom. 

"Nope. We're gonna ditch, wanna come?" George shrugged, deadpan expression as usual. 

"Oh, alright." Ringo blinked and shrugged as well, deciding to just go along with it. "But- one dance? Pleaaaaseeee??" Ringo begged, sticking out his bottom lip at George, puppy eyes turned on full blast on this occasion, and of course it worked.

"Alrigh', fine. C'mon." George rolled his eyes and grabbed Ringo's arm with a grin, the two running off with giggles into the crowd and leaving Paul all alone at a table. He felt slight anxiety rise in his throat, and he tugged on the end of his tailcoat with a huff, muttering under his breath slightly; "George, ye fucker." 

Instead of coming to join them, though, the ebony haired boy just sat there, legs crossed and attempting to look reserved with something else so he wouldn't be bothered. But alas, he was bothered.

By a certain pretty boy in a large white and gold mask, decorated in feathers and glitter. Auburn hair, perfectly styled, poked out from the top, almond eyes shining with mischief and playfulness, thin lips pulled into a lazy smirk. His slightly bulky figure was supported with a silk green, three piece suit, tailcoat, tight trousers, vest, large black bowtie and shiny dress shoes, topped with a black top hat with a green ribbon. Which all had been perfectly tailored and suited to his body so that it simultaneously accentuated and covered up all the right bits. It brings out his eyes so much. And his hair, Paul noted to himself. Due to the tight clothes, his figure had been shaped to an hourglass, which was all the rage these days, for men to have hourglass figures. 

"Care to dance, pretty boy?" His voice was like literal honey pouring into Paul's ears. Deep with a slight rasp, but nasal at the same time. Not the annoying kind, though. Just the perfect voice. He held out a gloved hand to invite Paul to join him, the other resting behind his back.   
What.... was a boy like him doing asking a boy like Paul to dance??? Did he think he was a girl or something?? Are his eyelashes too long? Lips too big? The boy sat there in silence as he stared at the boy, who seemed to be older by only a year or so. Guys can't ask guys to dance, especially not in a ball like this. 

And he called me pretty boy...

"Hey. You right, mate?" The copper-haired boy spoke again, eyebrow raised ever so slightly as the smirk widened a touch, head tilted to the side. "Would you like to dance?"

"Oh. Uh-" Paul cut himself off, voice unsteady, standing up suddenly, forcing the boy to take a slight step back. "Sure." Realising what he said, his heartbeat suddenly picked up speed, his palms starting to sweat as he slowly reached and took the other's hand, thanking the gods he was wearing gloves and the boy couldn't feel his sweat. He wasn't originally going to dance, but this boy enticed him into it somehow. There was something about him, he couldn't quite place it. Something about the way he smiled that tugged on his heart, made him feel like he wanted to run in the rain and laugh like crazy, exhilaration pumping through his veins. Suddenly aware of every bone in his body, Paul slowly slipped his arm through the mysterious boy's to link them together, both never having moved their eyes, both locked in a trance as they stared at the other.

"Let's go, eh?" The boy flashed a grin, revealing pearly white teeth, which made Paul's heart leap and he felt as if he would melt right then and there, eyes fluttering slightly as he finally pulled his eyes from the other's to his lips. What the fuck was he feeling? He knew what it was.. what it entailed. Oh fuck. 

"Yeah. Let's go." Plump lips smiled softly and the two strolled off to the dancing area. Many men and women were lined up facing each other, standing in silence, ready to begin to dance as soon as the orchestra began to play.

Paul already felt out of place, and this definitely didn't help. They both squeezed into the middle, the people on either side of them raising eyebrows and scoffing in disgust at the two boys about to dance. But this didn't seem to affect the chestnut boy, who just stood there, eyes flashing playfully at Paul as if daring him to start solo dancing with him right then and there. 

But before he could do anything, the music suddenly burst into the air, and everyone immediately flew into dance. The almond-eyed boy's hands flew to Paul's waist and he laced his hand with him, moving closer and starting to guide them into dance. (He nearly turned into a pile of goo at the boy's touch, every inch of his body on fire, especially his waist and hand.) Paul couldn't quite catch up fast enough, and ended up stumbling and trodding on his toes, bumping into a lady's side who gasped and turned away with a huff. The older boy let out a chuckle, grin widening to something more genuine and unstaged. Paul's heart leaped almost out of his chest, eyes widening as he was caught off guard with something so.... beautiful. He would give anything to see him smile like that again. To hear him laugh. 

"So." 

"So?" Paul raised an eyebrow, deciding to engage the other in conversation while they danced. Everything else seemed to fade and chip away around them, until it was just the two boys and the music, as if they were dancing in darkness, the violins crescendoing in their ears.

"Wha's your name?"   
Paul heard a hint of scouse in his words, and his eyes lit up with excitement. Maybe this boy was like him? From the same place? Someone he could bond with. Who wasn't like all these rich pricks around them.

"Agains' the rules, innit?" 

"I think we can make an exception, eh?" The boy leaned closer in, until Paul could feel his hot breath billowing on Paul's cheeks. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit-

"I think not."

"Huh. Alrigh', two can play at tha'..." The boy trailed off. "Favourite food?"

"None of yer business." Paul smirked ever so smugly, deciding to play a little at this boy's game. 

"Well mine's yorkshire puddin'." 

"Why don't ye tell me your name?" 

"That's agains' th' rules, isn't it?" 

"Touche, touche. Uhm- how'd ye get invited to this place?"

"A friend." The boy shrugged nonchalantly. "You?"

"A friend." Paul copied him, the two continuing easily to dance, not noticing any of the stares from the people around them. Well mainly the other boy. Paul was struggling to remember the moves his farher taught intensely for a week before the ball, and that (along with their banter and the feel of the boy's hand on his waist) took up his mind.

"I see. Is...." The boy trailed off, his playful, nonchalant demeanor suddenly broken for a fleeting second as insecurity flashed in his eyes, but as quick as it came, it was gone, and he was back to his usual self. Paul blinked quickly, trying to process the emotions he read so quickly on the boy's face. "Do ye wanna ditch this place? Y'know, go somewhere else quieter for a bit..." 

"Uhm..." Paul trailed off, cheeks flushing a deep red, his entire face on fire. Was he implying what he thought he was implying? 

Unfortunately, before Paul could reply, the music had come to a close, and everyone around them came to a halt, forcing them both to stop waltzing. Before they could move, people around them began to bustle and pushed them apart, chatter starting up again before there was a loud tinker, everyone falling silent again and turning their attention to the doors. Mimi was standing there, looking like a precious porcelain doll on display, before she announced;

"Dinner is ready, ladies and gentlemen! Please find your assigned seats and prepare to be served, thank you! Powder rooms are to your right." 

The bustle started up once again when Mimi stopped talking, this time even louder as everyone began to prepare for dinner, pushing the two further and further apart. Feeling so overwhelmed, anxiety bubbling up Paul's throat and ready to burst, he turned and bolted, pushing his way through the crowd, feeling tears well in his doe eyes as he ignored protests from the people he shoved out of his way.

"Hey, wait- wait!" John yelled, trying to squeeze through the crowd, cursing under his breath as the boy disappeared in the sea of heads. If only he had been told his name. "Fuck." John hissed, not giving up quite yet and making a beeline for the doors once he had squeezed out of the crowd. But by the time he had gotten to the front doors of the manor, breath shallow, there was no one in sight. 

He had gone, vanished into the night.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god its currentlfy 7:08am i started writing thus chapter at 11pm and didnt stop until i finished so.i am. fudking never typing again oh my god ok see you huys later hope u enjoyed hooray john paul meet please fucking murder me iokay bye


	10. nine.

october 1858

_"Hey, wait- wait!" John yelled, trying to squeeze through the crowd, cursing under his breath as the boy disappeared in the sea of heads. If only he had been told his name. "Fuck." John hissed, not giving up quite yet and making a beeline for the doors once he had squeezed out of the crowd. But by the time he had gotten to the front doors of the manor, breath shallow, there was no one in sight._

_He had gone, vanished into the night.___

_ _"Jesus fuck." John threw himself dramatically onto his bed with a groan. He couldn't get his mind off the boy. No matter how damn hard the prince tried, the boy just kept bursting into his brain like "hello!" and never bloody leaving. He only just met him, for christ's sake! Probably never will again. But his eyes were so familiar... the boy seemed to like him, at least. He was glad he had taken off his royal crest pin, he felt as if he was on display with it on and he wanted to be.... normal, for a little bit. He could tell the boy didn't belong there, he seemed to be of lower class due to how he behaved and his clothes being outdated and frayed. He felt as if he knew the boy already though, like they had met before. His face seemed so familiar, if only he didn't have the mask on... then maybe he would had recognised him properly. _ _

_ _"Excuse me, Mr. Lennon?" There was a firm knock on the door and John started slightly, before slowly standing up, stretching as he strolled to his bedroom door. Opening it, there stood Epstein, looking posh and formal as always, but this time there was a letter in his outstretched hand. "A letter for you, sire." _ _

_ _"Aye, thanks, Eppy." John took it before examining it, seeing horrible and messy writing, with many spelling mistakes. He couldn't see the address or the name as the chestnut boy couldn't decipher it, but he knew it was George, of course. _ _

_ _"It's Mr. Epstein to you, Mr. Lennon." Brian raised an eyebrow with a stern expression. _ _

_ _"Okay, Brian." John grinned, leaning against the doorway as he started to open the poorly-stuck together envelope. _ _

_ _There was an exasperated sigh and John flicked his gaze up, but grinned wider when he saw a smile pull on the corners of Brian's mouth, gazing at the boy for a moment before turning and walking off, calling behind his shoulder. "Your friend Mr. Harrison said it was urgent. I suggest you hurry yourself a bit." _ _

_ _"Righ'..." John mumbled to himself before he slipped out the letter and unfolded it. Scribbled messily in large jagged words, it read;_ _

_ _

_ _JOHNNE CUM TO MI N E RENGO IS HERE YOU CAN MEET PAULI CUM HERE NOW THENKS GORGE _ _

_ _

_ _"Ah, of course. Splendid spellin', George." John let out a chuckle before slipping the letter in his pocket, starting to stroll away towards the front doors, whistling to himself. "Rengo, Rengo..... how blue yer eyes are... short little man....." _ _

_ _"John? Where are you going?" Mimi's voice sounded from behind him. He froze for a moment before turning to see his aunt standing at the doorway to the front room, a red sleep dress and needle in hand, obviously being in the middle of patching it up. _ _

_ _"Jus' down ta George's." John shrugged, crossing his arms._ _

_ _"Oh, alright. Be back by dinner, at least; the Powell family are coming over for dinner, remember." She waved a finger, and there was a hint of a smile on her lips, before she turned back into the front room and closed the door. He stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before starting to walk, pushing open the front doors and making his way through the gardens and to the street. _ _

_ _She didn't even correct his speech or anything. The queen must be really happy with him. Maybe because of the fact he most likely will marry Cynthia sometime next year, and they will take over the spots of King and Queen and John will be forced to get into line and fulfill his duties. He doesn't know how to feel about it, really. The boy is still in denial of the fact that when he is King, he won't be able to see George anymore. Or Stu, or Paul for that fact. If they even do become friends. Maybe he will be able to see Ringo, since he's of higher class, but not as much as he'd like. He would have to make friends with people of royalty or the class just below, that's just what kings did. The prospect made John's heart ache and irritation course through his veins. Why did it have to be this way? It fucking sucked. But he knew that he wouldn't let it stop him. He wasn't going to let go of his friends that easily._ _

_ _"Aye, John!" Ringo's cheery voice called to him, and the prince realised that he had already made it to George's place subconsciously, and he felt a grin paint his face, and he hurried over past the house to the backyard. There George was, lying on the ground with his head on Ringo's legs, whose back was up against the back of the house. But there was a third person there.   
Lying in the grass with his thin legs kicked up against the wall next to Ringo, deep black hair splayed out and messy. Familiar arched brows furrowed slightly, droopy, fawn-emerald coloured eyes followed the butterfly that flew past him, long eyelashes fluttering. The boy reached to itch his thin, pointed nose, plump lips resting open slightly. _ _

_ _John realised two things in this moment. Wow, Paul is hot, and he's the boy from his dream he had a while ago. What the fuck? He had had similar dreams with the same boy many times after the first one. Why the hell was he dreaming about Paul?? He hadn't even met him. But he did yesterday at his ball, too... he was dancing with him? Why didn't he know this before? He knew Paul was coming, George had mentioned he was before it. His clothes were tattered and old, too... of course it was Paul. He should had connected the dots earlier. He probably weirded the poor boy out by hitting on him... but if he was straight, why else would Paul dance with him? Or out him when he was obviously flirting? There must be something that stopped him. The boy could have just screamed "homosexual!" or something along the lines of it, and John would be disgraced and locked up, probably hanged too. _ _

_ _"Oi, Johnny. C'mere, ww....we stole Paulie's dad's beer, 'ave sum wi' us." George raised his bottle with a grin, crossing one leg over the other while Ringo played with his hair, giggling like crazy. John only just noticed the many empty bottles littered around the three, and he sighed. Dealing with drunk George and Ringo wasn't so pleasant. And he didn't know how Paul was gonna be._ _

_ _"Hgnngh...wai'.. John?" Paul finally spoke up, his attention pulled from the butterfly, his glassy eyes finally focussing on the prince who stood in front of them. "Wha's 'e doin' 'ere?" The boy sat up quickly, pointy elbows sticking out as he struggled to properly sit up, cheeks flushed deep red and his movements slow and sluggish from the alcohol. _ _

_ _"Wha' d'y' mean? I says I wus gonna bring 'im ovah..." George rolled his eyes, wacking his friend on the arm, Ringo pulling his arm away softly with a "shhhhhhhhhhh........"_ _

_ _"N-no! Th'ght ye were talkin' 'bou' Rings..." Paul groaned, slowly managing to stand up but immediately fell against the wall. _ _

_ _"'E's roigh' 'ere, ye daf' cunt! Go' 'ere before ya!" George yelled with a scream of laughter, accidentally spilling a bit of beer on himself before laughing even harder, Ringo joining with a guffaw. _ _

_ _"Think that's enough for ye all. C'mere, time ta rest up." John walked over to the three, grabbing George and Ringo's beers out of their hands (not without both of them protesting loudly and making grabby hands at John) before reaching to grab Paul's. But the younger boy shoved him away._ _

_ _"Don' fookin' touch me! Posh cunt!" Paul spat at the prince before stumbling away, taking another swig of his bottle with a loud burp as he continued to stumble his way through the fields. _ _

_ _"Oi, wait!-" John sighed before hurrying after him, able to catch up within a few strides due to Paul not having made it far before he collapsed to the ground, mumbling to himself. "Paul-"_ _

_ _"F-ffff-fuck off." Paul yelled, rolling over and cuddling close to his bottle. "Y-ye jus'- fuck off, man. Rich bastar'. I don'- I don' care tha' I danced wi' ye las' nigh'. Jus' go away." His face immediately turned sour and he clenched his teeth, curling in on himself closer._ _

_ _"Mate, yer fuckin' wasted. 'm takin' ye 'ome whether ye like it or not." John chuckled before he reached and gently grabbed the boy's arm. Doing this caused Paul to flip around and lock eyes with the prince, his expression shocked, innocent eyes gazing up at him, lips pursed. _ _

_ _"Wh... okay." _ _

_ _"Okay? Ya righ' with this?" John felt his cheeks grow hot, coughing as he slowly wrapped an arm around Paul's waist to lift him up. _ _

_ _"Yeah.... yeah." Paul murmured, eyes drooping as tiredness clung to his lashes like dust. Glad that John got the confirmation of consent, he wrapped another arm around the back of Paul's legs and picked the boy up bridal style. _ _

_ _"Wh.. wha' ye doin', Johnny? Leavin' ss-ssso soon?" George grumbled, John noticing the boy had curled up on Ringo's lap, who was snoring away, drool pooling from the corner of his mouth to his shirt. _ _

_ _"Need ta get Paul home. What's his address?" _ _

_ _"Oh... uhm-" George huffed, trying to remember. "Oh yeah!" The younger boy told John Paul's address, and the prince nodded before starting to walk off. "W-Wait, Johnny!" _ _

_ _"Yeah? 'urry up, meant to be 'ome soon." John paused and stepped back a few metres to look at George. _ _

_ _"...I luv ya." George mumbled, eyes already shutting as his breath started to even out. "Yer m' bes' frien'." There was silence for a bit, accompanied by Ringo's snoring, until George started to snore as well, having fallen asleep. John stood there watching the two for a few moments, before he smiled warmly and started to walk off, carrying a half-conscious Paul along. _ _

_ _"Luv ya too, man." He said to himself._ _

_ _

_ _The sun was beginning to set by the time John got to Paul's house, which wasn't far off from George's actually. There was, thankfully, no one home. Or there were, at least, but he didn't see them out in any of the yards or main rooms. There was a fiery-red haired girl who stood there, though watching him with shock before she rushed over._ _

_ _"Oi! Who're you, an' wha' are ya doin' with Paul?" She glared at the older boy, crossing her arms firmly as she stood in the way of John being able to sneak in through the window. _ _

_ _"Wha'? 'e's yer boyfriend? None o' yer business, get out o' th' way." John onced her over before scoffing slightly, jealousy bubbling in his chest. Paul has a girlfriend?? _ _

_ _"N-no." Her cheeks and ears went red as she blinked in surprise. "Tell me who ye are. This is my 'ouse too, I live upstairs!" She grew angry again._ _

_ _"Prince of Liverpool. There. Now get ou' o; the bloody way." John raised an eyebrow, moving to get past her, which she thankfully did, allowing the prince to open the window and peer in to see the best possible way to get through. But he froze in horror as he realised.. there's only one bedroom. Jim and Mike were peacefully asleep in their own mattresses, Paul's one, which was closest to the window thank christ, was empty. "Shit."_ _

_ _"Y-yer lyin'! Yer not the Prince of Liverpool.." Jane huffed defiantly, growing more irritated as John wasn't paying attention to her. _ _

_ _The auburn-haired boy gently put Paul down and slipped through the window as silent as possible, making sure the sable-haired boy's family were still asleep before ducking his head back out, outstretching his arms. _ _

_ _"Come'ead! Pass 'im!" He gestured to Paul who was lying in the grass, soft breath billowing into the air, his quiet hums filling the silence._ _

_ _"Wha- no way!" Jane hissed, gasping slightly and taking a step back._ _

_ _"Jus' fookin' do it!" John rolled his eyes, gesturing fervently to the boy, checking behind him to make sure that Jim nor Mike had woken up yet._ _

_ _"Fine." Jane spoke after a few moments, giving in with a huff and slowly picking up Paul, who groaned softly as he was being moved around, clutching onto John's shirt as he was slowly passed through the window and John laid him down on his mattress. _ _

_ _"John.." Paul's voice was just above a whisper, before John gently pulled the blankets over the boy. His eyes opened just a touch, glassy orbs unfocussed until he shut them again, the drunken boy passing out within a few seconds. _ _

_ _There was a rustle and John heard a soft unfamiliar voice call out._ _

_ _"Paul..?" It was Mike. John almost screamed but kept his mouth shut, darting away and leaping silently through the window and gently shutting it, almost knocking into Jane who mouthed; "What? Wha'?" _ _

_ _"Nothin'. Mike woke up is all." _ _

_ _"How do I know ye weren't lyin' abou' th' prince thing?" Jane whispered, walking after John who had started to hurry away._ _

_ _"'ere." He whipped around to show the King's Crest to her for a few seconds before darting away, starting to sprint down the street home. "Bye!"_ _

_ _Jane stood there, absolutely dumbfounded, and pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. She just met the fucking Prince of Liverpool. What the hell was Paul doing with the Prince of Liverpool, of all people? _ _

_ _

_ _✧✧✧✧✧_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aye gamers !!! hope u enjoy this chap. school is bouta start for me in like 2 days so. updates will become weird and inconsistent, im rly rlysorry in advance !! im really Not excited for it but oh well ill get thru it teehee, anyways hope yall enjoy this chapter !! heheheh im excited for whats to come hell yea :) tysm for every kudos and comment and everything i literally fkjbdvbfkbjgjb appreciate every single one aHHHH ty ty ty anyways okay ill shut up now see yall later hope ya enjoy <3333


	11. ten.

october 1858

"Oh, I am dearly sorry for arriving late, mother. I was just tending to some business." John reassured Mimi, who had rushed up to him in concern, the prince's hair falling unkempt on his forehead and his face flushed with running straight home after dropping off Paul, clothes ruffled. 

"Oh, that's quite alright, John. I'm glad you realised your mistake. Now come along, the Powell's arrived not ten minutes ago." Mimi started to usher her nephew from the front doors towards his room. "Please go get changed, your current clothes are not suitable for this occasion." She then turned and hurried off back to the front room, where the Powell's were situated, waiting for John to arrive.

The prince went to open the door, but almost fell over when he collided with someone.

"Oh! Oh, Mr. Lennon, I am sorry-" It was Cynthia. She was standing near his desk with a leather notebook clutched in her hands, which was pressed to her chest.

"Oh, Cyn. Hi." John blinked in surprise, stepping away with a soft smile. Which disappeared quickly as he realised what she was holding. "Wait, were ye lookin' through that?"

"No- no, I just picked it up now-"

"Give it to me please." He reached to grab it, Cynthia letting him take it as she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I hope ye weren't lyin' about readin' it." He sighed, moving to put it back on his desk. There were writings and poems much too personal and something Cynthia couldn't know about, 

"I know, I'm not, I'm sorry-" She cut herself off. "Sorry, I don't mean to be in your quarters. I was just - curious.. I'll leave-" She pushed past John to open the door, but he gently grabbed her arm.

"It's alright, Cyn. Stay outside, I need to get dressed quickly then we'll walk in together." He smiled softly, Cyn pausing and turning to gaze up at her partner's eyes through her lashes. She let a grin paint her face and she leaned up to capture the prince's lips in a kiss, John wrapping arms around her back, leaning into it with a grin. "Okay, okay, enough for now. Mimi'll have me head if 'm any more late." The prince rolled his eyes, causing Cynthia to giggle before she opened the door and slipped outside, shutting it. After a few moments of silence he sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair before going to hurriedly pick a suit and get changed.

Today was the first day the Powell's were coming over to the manor for dinner. They were going to discuss plans for John and Cynthia's wedding, and get the parent's blessing for the marriage to occur. John's nerves were absolutely wrecked, and he didn't really want to do this, but he supposed it was worth it. Cynthia was a sweet, lovely, intelligent girl, and he wouldn't marry anyone else. Even if he didn't really want to get married in the first place, he supposed it was his duty as King to be. After adjusting his tie, John decided he was finished and turned to walk out, now clad in a deep blue striped suit with blue and white checkered trousers, as that was the new fashion item that every rich person was raging about.   
The chestnut boy spotted something out of the corner of his eye, though, and he turned to see something poking out of the edges of his notebook. Reaching and picking it up, the boy immediately flicked through the pages to where it was. Discovering it was a slip of paper, he took it out and examined it. It was a sketch of John, posing almost completely naked (with just a sheet covering his bits) on one of the velvet couches, glasses resting on the top of his head, with the words; 'miss you.' written below it in messy writing. Instantly, he knew who did this, every stroke and brush of ink familiar to him.

Stuart. 

Why the hell would he do this now?? He has Astrid, why is he suddenly...giving him a naked drawing of himself and saying he misses him - what the hell does that mean?-

"John, love? Please hurry up, my father's getting antsy now, you might want to quicken your pace." Cynthia's gentle voice called from behind the door, a soft knock accompanying it. 

"Oh. Uh- yeah... sure." He spoke eventually, staring at the drawing with wide eyes, before pulling himself away from it, slipping it into his inside breast pocket and hurrying out, pressing a brief kiss to Cynthia's cheek before he held his arm out. "Shall we, missus?" He flashed a smug grin and a wink at his partner, who giggled and wrapped her arm around his with a grin.

"We shall." 

And so the two made their way to the front room, ready to face the wrath of Cynthia's parents. But, surprisingly, neither were mad as they came into the room, instead standing up and hurrying over with grins on their faces, Charles coming to shake John's hand excitedly.

"Greetings, greetings, Mr and Mrs. Powell, how lovely to see you both." John bowed slightly, shaking Charles's hand back with vigour, putting on his best brave face as he felt anxiety start to bubble up his throat. There were half-drunken teas on the coffee table between the couches, and a few before-dinner appetizers went along with it.

"Oh, the pleasure is all ours, dear. Thank you so very much for inviting us into your exquisite home." Lillian smiled and curtsied politely, before John moved to sit next to Mimi, Cynthia going to sit between her parents on the opposite couch, even though they wanted to sit together. 

"Of course." Mimi smiled gently, taking a delicate sip of her tea before setting it down. "Now, dinner is about to be served in a few minutes, would you like to discuss the wedding now, or later when you are all more comfortable?"

"Oh, we can start now, if you don't mind." Charles spoke eagerly, and John realised why they were so happy. Probably because Cynthia's about to marry the prince of Liverpool, and with our amount of riches, could buy five separate manors and an island for them if we wanted. 

"Alright, well, let's begin." Mimi smiled politely, and John knew this would take a while, so he prepared to tune out, but put on a face of half interest and to act as if he was listening and nodding along. "How many people do you plan on inviting from your family and friends?" 

"Oh, about maybe eighty people on our end, how many people were you thinking?" Charles spoke. 

"Well, let's see, maybe around ninety to one hundred depending on how many people we wish to attend.... " John tuned out at this point, eyes drooping slightly as he pretended to nod and smile along to whatever they were saying. All of this stuff disinterested him greatly, it was not his strong suit and probably never would be. He spotted Cynthia out of the corner of his eye, though, and noticed her staring at him, knowing he wasn't listening to what they were saying. Before he could stop himself, the boy felt a warm, genuine smile paint his face, which he hadn't done in a long time, as he stared at Cynthia, who grinned back and ducked her head, gazing at him from across the room. If all else fails, John knew he still had Cynthia. 

"Excuse me, dearly sorry to interrupt.." There was a new voice that entered the conversation from the doorway. This caused John to snap out of his thoughts, the group turning their heads to gaze at the person who entered the room. It was just Brian, and a few other servants, standing politely with their hands behind their back. "I came to inform that dinner is served." 

"Oh, why thank you, Mr. Epstein. We will be just a moment." Mimi smiled politely at the man, who nodded before turning to leave with the other servants, not without glancing at John for a few moments though, his expression unreadable. Before John could respond, the servants were gone, and the Powell's and Mimi were beginning to stand up, getting ready to go have dinner. 

"May I just freshen up in the powder room, please your Majesty? Cynthia will accompany me." 

"Why, of course, Ms. Powell. I will come with you, I need to freshen up as well." So with that, the three ladies trotted out the room in silence, John feeling Cynthia's warm hand brush against his as she passed, before they were gone, leaving John stuck with the father. The prince felt anxiety bubble into his chest, and he felt the half-naked drawing Stuart drew of him burning a hole through his breast pocket. 

"Ah, why don't we go have a seat at the table and wait for the ladies, Mr. Powell?" John finally managed to speak, keeping his voice steady as he faked a smile, gesturing to the door as they began to walk out. 

"Please, call me Charles." The man smiled warmly, patting the boy on the shoulder before they both exited, John letting Charles go first.

"Of course, Charles. Nice weather, isn't it? For October, at least." John began some idle chatter as they made their way across the main hall towards the dining room in the east corner. Glancing towards the windows, he saw that it had become pitch black outside, and he couldn't see anything. 

"Oh yes! It's just splendid, absolutely lovely." The man nodded along as they entered the dining room, where a few servants were still scurrying around, setting up last few minute things before hurriedly apologizing and leaving the room once they were done. The room was large and the long wooden table had ten velvet chairs on either side, and a much larger, more decorated chair on each end, where John and Mimi will sit. The floor changed from white, red and black marble patterns to sleek, waxed wood, which had a diamond pattern of different types of wood. Paintings hung on the wall, and John noticed a portrait of him which had been done just before his eighteenth birthday, by one of the artists. It had been hung up on display in the ballroom the day of the masquerade, but it was moved it here once it was over. John had hoped it was Stuart, so he would be able to see him on a more daily basis, but unfortunately that wasn't the case. 

"Mr. Lennon, what do you plan on doing with my daughter?" Charles finally spoke up after a few moments of silence, his voice calm but with a hint of danger, both of them standing facing each other next to the table, the window facing the back gardens to their left, the overhanging lit chandeliers casting unnerving shadows across his fiancee's father's face. 

"Uhm, I plan on marrying her, if that's alright with you, of course." John coughed slightly, almost reaching to tug at his collared shirt, feeling heat rise in his body and fear rising in his throat, almost closing it up and making it a struggle for him to breathe. Does Charles not approve of the marriage? But he seemed to be so happy just ten minutes ago when John and Cynthia walked in.. 

"I see." Charles was silent again for a moment, before his overall countenance grew threatening, the man looming over the prince menacingly, who was about ready to up and run out. "If you ever, ever hurt Cynthia in any way, whether it be mentally or physically, you will never see the light of dawn again. You hear me, boy? I give you my blessing, but all I demand is you be a good, kind husband and make time for her. Don't let me, my wife or my daughter down, or else there will be consequences. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand, and I promise I will not let you down. I love Cynthia, I couldn't bear to harm her in any way." John managed to keep his voice steady once again, putting on a brave face to try and prove to Cynthia's father he was worthy.

"Alright." After a few moments of dead silence, the man relaxed and his expression grew happy, happy with John's response. "I give you my blessing. Take care of my Cynthia." He held out a hand, and John shook it firmly, now extremely relieved, thinking Charles was damn near close to beheading him. 

"I promise." 

"Hello, hello, sorry we took so long!" The door flew open almost straight after John spoke, Mimi coming in first, Cynthia and Lillian trailing behind. John felt relief shoot through his body and he moved towards Cynthia, who took his hand with a smile. "Now everyone, take your seats please, the servants are about to arrive with the food."

And with that, they all took a seat. John took his seat at the head of the table, Cynthia sitting next to him. At the other end, there sat Mimi, Lillian and Charles on either end of her. The distance was quite awkward and John felt uncomfortable. Why did they have to sit so far apart, separated from their parents? It was almost symbolic, John guessed, because it almost showed how disconnected John and Cynthia felt from the rest of the high class world and their values. 

"Dinner is served, gentlemen, ladies." Brian called out, as waiters came into the room, interrupting the awkward silence, carrying large silver trays of food covered by a lid, which they placed onto the tables. "Roast mutton with a side of vegetables and rosemary potatoes, and linguine pasta. Plum pudding with ice cream will be served as dessert." The head servant stated, as the other servants revealed the steaming, fresh foods with a flourish and they all exited, leaving the five to eat. 

"Let us all say grace." Mimi clasped her hands together in prayer, and the five of them bowed their heads to say grace. John did nothing except peek an eye open to stare at Cynthia, who seemed to know exactly what John was doing as she peeked one eye open too, struggling to suppress a grin as John tapped his nose knowingly with a wink. They quickly went back to fake praying as the adults finished theirs, not wanting a lecture from either of them. 

"Now, let us feast!"

The five of them politely began eating, John wanting to just inhale the entire meal, but refrained from doing so. The four of them began discussing the wedding, but John was too focussed on eating to notice and didn't join the conversation, but he let Cynthia discuss it, since he knew she was somewhat excited about it at least. John tried to be excited as well, but he was going to lose his friends he's known for most of his life once he gets married, probably never being able to see them again, as there wasn't any excuse he could be able to use that was valid in anyone else's eyes. It would be too suspicious and he couldn't be caught with 'commoners', as much as he didn't care about that. But that was the way it was. And that wasn't quite great of an aspect. 

Before the prince knew it, the dinner was over, and dessert was had and he felt comfortably full. Sucking slightly on the spoon he ate the pudding with, he then overheard his aunt speak.

"So that does it then." Mimi turned to her nephew. "We will discuss more as time goes on, but the wedding will take place around the start of September next year. Is that alright with you two?" 

John sat there, dumbfounded. Less than a year left of his life. Then it's all over, John becomes the King of Liverpool, and a new chapter begins in his life. No more fooling around, no sneaking around with Stuart or Brian. He probably will never see George, Stu or Ringo again, maybe in passing, since George is one of the servants here, and Ringo because his family provides food for the most rich and noble in Liverpool. But there was no excuse to be seen with them outside of that. That was all going to disappear. 

Dread pooled in the prince's stomach. The consequences for him becoming King were all crashing down on him like a tidal wave, endlessly drowning him in a pool of loneliness where he'll never truly be happy. Stuck in a one-sided marriage where he prefers his wife like a friend and not a lover. Superficial friendships and connections only to the most noble, rich people of the city which are all for show and reputation. His entire life on display as King and forced into a role he was never really ready for.   
Despite the fact he was becoming the King, he truly felt powerless at the hands of the system. John was doomed.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gamers !!! aHHH hope u enjoy this chapter. ayyee john and cyn bouta get married oops. sorry its been so much of john lately, trust me im gonna do more from paulies perspective soon!! just tryna do some buildup and stuff is all. anyways aaHH hope yall enjoy this chap !! it was super fun to write esp while i was blasting pink floyd tbh its rly fun and easy to write while pink floyd plays in the background im luv. also i SWEAR i have learnt so much shit from writing this fic like??? bruh googled more shit than i ever have in my life. i know now more abt british 1800s and when ice cream was invented and popularised than fucking basic maths oops. ok ima shut my mouth now but anyways hope yall enjoyed the chap !! see yaaa <33333


	12. eleven.

october 1858

_"Hey, wait!" Paul yelled into the wind, but his voice was carried away. A wild, relentless storm was raging around him, torrential rain bucketing down, harsh wind that blew dust and leaves into his face. The boy tried to look down at himself, but he didn't seem to have a body. His focus was ripped from that, though, as he heard a familiar voice call his name. _

_"Paul! Help!" His father's voice sounded from far off, but simultaneously echoed strangely in his head. It was strained, desperate, as if he was clinging onto his last hope. There he was, with Mike and his mother, only a few metres away. They clung to each other, staring at Paul, horror flashing in their eyes as if they had just witnessed him committing a treacherous crime. _

_"Guys! I'm sorry!" He started forward, but as soon as he did so, the three turned and bolted away from him, speeding away hurriedly. The boy desperately tried to keep up, but soon they were inching further and further from him, Paul helplessly trying to catch up to them to no avail. Suddenly his mother tripped and fell to the ground, the distraught boy dropping to his knees at her side. Her face was stark white and sunken, glassy eyes devoid of its usual spark, the way she looked in her final days. Before he could even move, she slowly began to sink into the earth, the lifeless body disappearing into the grass._

_"Mum!" A scream ripped from Paul's throat. Those horrible feelings that he had felt, for a long time after she died, started to bubble up into his chest, rising up and closing off his throat. The boy tried to yell for her again, clutching and clawing at the ground, ripping out grass as if he could pull her back up from the earth that had just swallowed her whole right in front of his eyes. Hot tears welled in his eyes, cascading down his cheeks like a waterfall as grief reared its ugly head in his body, dissolving into choking sobs and desperate screams.   
But suddenly, he looked up and he had appeared in a busy, high-class street. Many accomplished men and women were bustling past him back and forth, paying no mind to the boy who kneeled on the ground in tears. A groan sounded from below him, snapping his gaze away to see a horrifying sight;_

_Mike lay in his arms, face pallid and sunken just like his mother, but instead fresh blood trickled from his mouth onto Paul's arm. He could almost feel the warm blood dropping onto his skin and staining it. His brother's body was pencil thin, ragged clothes hanging off it in tatters._

_"M-Mike-" Paul choked out. "Stay-stay with me. Mike!" _

_"I'm going.... to die, aren't I?" Mike reached and clutched at his brother's arm, teary eyes reflecting pain and fear. "I..... don't wanna die..." His grip slowly began to relax, breath growing more and more shallow, until there was silence, last breath billowing into the air. _

_"MIKE!" Paul smacked the boy's face as he felt agony clutch at his ribs, sucking in breath before letting out a wail. A pair of shoes stopped in front of him, causing the boy to look up. It was the woman in the red dress from the masquerade, eyes flashing with contempt as a smug smirk played on her lips._

_"Are you.. boys sure you're in the right place?" _

_"Paul! Helloooooo?" A voice sounded from his left, Paul locking eyes with a random woman he had never seen before. "Paul! Get up! Pauul!"_

"Paul!" 

"MIKE!" Paul burst awake with a cry, sitting up immediately and gasping for breath as his eyes adjusted to the morning light, focussing on what's in front of him. The boy's head pounded horribly, every bone in his body sore as he came to terms with the fact he had a hangover. Jane sat on the cold stone floor next to his matress, staring at him intently but with concern. Reaching to wipe at his cheek with the back of his hand, the distraught boy noticed it came back wet. 

"Paul! Are ye okay? Heard ye screamin', thought ye were bein' murdered. Are ye alrigh'?" Jane sighed before reaching to wipe away her crushes' tears with a gentle hand. She was wearing an ivory lace dress that hung from her thin body and billowed out onto the floor, flour-coated apron and white stockings, but no shoes, accompanying it. 

"I...." Paul trailed off, trying to register what had just happened. _Just a horrible, sick dream..._ he hadn't had one like this in at least a year. Why did he suddenly have another one now? Possibly because of the masquerade.. "'m fine. Thanks, Jane, but 'm alrigh'. Jus'... bad dream." The doe-eyed boy snaked his hand around Jane's and laced his fingers with hers, the clementine-haired girl's bluebottle eyes widening, cheeks flushing deep pink before she locked eyes with Paul. The boy only smiled, turning the charm up high and reaching to press his lips to her pale hand, all without breaking eye contact, long eyelashes framing his doe eyes. Even while hungover, Paul could definitely charm pretty much anyone. "I-"

"Paul! Get up, we're workin' today. Choppin' wood again." His father's voice sounded from the doorway, causing the two to break apart and Jane to scoot away quickly, their gazes falling to the floor, cheeks red. The man walked into the room, but stopped in his tracks as he spotted Jane sitting next to Paul's bed. "Oh, 'ello Jane. Didn't know ye were 'ere. Paul's about ta join us on th' field." 

"Oh, 'm sorry Mr. McCartney, didn't mean ta intrude-"

"No no, it's all righ' dear. Sorry ta take Paulie away from ya." Jim nodded, adjusting the straps of his denim overalls before hurrying away to go back to the field. 

There was palpable silence that hung between the two for a few moments, before Paul slowly stood up, rubbing his forehead with a huff as he tried to wake himself up more, trying to recover from his hangover.

"I gotta go now. See ye later," Paul paused, watching Jane stand up and walk over to him, twiddling a piece of thread nervously between her fingers. "Jane." 

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, the girl giggled and began to walk out. "See ya later," she disappeared through the doorway with a flourish, but not without calling back; "Paul." to mimic the way he had spoken just before. 

"Paulie! 'urry up, ye daf' cunt! Dad's gonna riot!" Mike called from the hallway, ducking in to gaze at Paul. "Wow, don't ye look jus' lovely. Rough nigh'?" His brother grinned and reached to poke at Paul's face. Dark bags hung under his glassy eyes, hair ruffled and sticking up every which way, lips pulled in a permanent grimace as he grunted, slapping Mike's hand away.

"Fuck off. Jus' gimme a momen'..." The boy yawned before trudging off towards the kitchen, where he grabbed the nearest cup and dipped it into the water pail, swallowing it all in one gulp before reaching for more, murmuring to himself; "Yes..... good.." 

"Where were ya? I swear I saw someone puttin' ya on th' bed last nigh'. Bu' soon as I tried ta proper look, they bolted." Mike commented offhandedly, sneaking half a piece of bread into his mouth as he leaned against the wooden table. 

"Hmnhg... wha'?" Paul finally turned his attention away from the water after seven cups, feeling a bit more... alive, so to speak, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

"I said, where were ye? I thought I saw someone puttin' ya on the bed last nigh'. Probably jus' me imagination." Mike shrugged with a chuckle, slipping one more half-slice of bread into his overall pocket and going out the back door to continue working. 

"I... was at George's..." Paul muttered to himself, straightening as he struggled to remember the events of last night. He was at George's with him and Ringo, George got the oh-so-genius idea of stealing Paul's dad's wine... oh. That must be the reason for all this. But.. Mike seeing someone drop him off here? Who could have done that? He knew George wouldn't, he knows how his friend gets around alcohol, he would have been too smashed to do it. Could Ringo have done it? He remembered Ringo having drinks with them too, but how much? The sable-haired boy racked his brain to try and get more information. Who else could have possibly dropped him off? They didn't do anything to him either, so thank fuck for that. But who? He vaguely remembered being carried, and the feel of the mattress as he was being placed on it, large, warm hands wrapped around him. But that's it.

"Paul! Fer christ's sake, wha' ye doin'? 'urry up!" Jim called again from the backyard, more frustrated than the first time. 

"Comin', da! Sorry." Paul called, placing the glass down before pressing the heels of his hands harshly on his eyes until colours and shapes started to pop behind them. _I'm determined to find who took me home. I'm gonna do everything I can to figure out who they are._

✧✧✧✧✧

"Oi! Wake th' fuck up!" This was the first thing that George and Ringo heard. 

"'m up mum, 'm up! 'm gonna do th' washin' I swear!" George flew into a sitting position, scooting backwards off of Ringo's lap and onto the grass, his dark eyes wide and frantic, but glassy and unfocussed, as expected. Ringo let out a loud groan, curling in on himself and falling onto his side, burying his head in his jacket. 

"George, ye idiot. It's only me, man. C'mon, wake up, you two. I brought water." John chuckled as he turned Ringo over onto his back with his foot, who stayed in a curled up position like a hedgehog, George sitting there for a few moments, gazing into nothingness before snapping back to reality, tired eyes blinking rapidly.

"Wh.. oh, aye John." George muttered, voice rough and deep with fatigue as the boy leaned against the wall of his house, shielding his eyes with a hiss from the midday light. "Hgg...fuck off sun!" 

"'ere's yer water." John handed a beer bottle that had been filled with water, George snatching it away with a glare before chugging the entire thing, the prince now turning to Ringo. "Ringo." He called in a sing-song voice, grin making its way across his face as he started to poke Ringo with his foot. "Come'ead, uppers. Got ya water." 

"No." Ringo spoke just above a whisper, not moving a muscle from his position. 

"Get up. Or I'll pour th' water on ye, manky git." John tilted the bottle upwards, preparing to pour the water on Ringo's face, but before he could do so, his older friend grumbled irritatedly and slowly sat up, leaning against the wall next to George. Not moving his arm, which he was using to shield his eyes from the light, he held out his other one, expecting the water.

"Fine, fine. Gimme."

John handed over the bottle, which Ringo took to chugging just like George did. 

"Surprised I didn't get eaten by a fox or sum shit an' died while I was ou'." George spoke up after a few moments of silence, having finished chugging the water and was now feeling more human. 

"Yeah. Wouldn't 'ave been a nice sight ta see." The prince chuckled again and plonked down in front of them, giving them a few minutes to properly wake up and be able to talk, especially Ringo, who was having a hard time not bursting out in sobs at his headache. 

"Wha' happened ta Paul? Where is 'e?" George finally asked, glancing back and forth, ebony eyes worried and anxious. 

"Took 'im home. 'e was pretty much unconscious." John shrugged slightly. 

"Oh. Wha' abou' us, then? Ye lef' us ou' 'ere!" George pointed at him accusingly, shooting a glare at his friend. Ringo nodded with him, holding the bottle upside down at his mouth to try and get the last few remaining drops of water, obviously not listening. 

"In case ye 'aven't noticed, Georgie. This is yer house." John raised his eyebrows with a grin. "An' as fer Ringo, yer 'ouse is way too far off. It's on the other side of th' city wi' the rich people, an' they would recognise me." 

"Oh. Righ'." George nodded slowly, before his eyes lit up with recognition, which was replaced by fear. "Shit! 'm meant ta help dad ou' at the palace today. Sorry guys, I gotta go. See ya tomorrow, let's hang, yeah?" George leaped up, rubbing his head and hissing as pain surged through it, but he hurried away, waving back to them, the two calling their goodbyes before Ringo continued to try and few more drops from the bottle. 

"I should go too, mate. Mimi wants me 'ome, an' I bet yer parents are wonderin' where ye are too." John stood up, dusting himself off and sticking his hands in his pockets. 

"Yeah, alrigh'. I'll walk with ya, we gotta go th' same way." Ringo stood up slowly, leaning against the wall for a few seconds as he struggled to compose himself, before he joined John in walking away, and they strolled down the street towards the south of the city, falling into comfortable silence. Grey, swirling clouds had gathered since John came over to his friends, even darker clouds suspended to the west, coming closer and closer like a tidal wave, distant lightning flashing and booms of thunder accompanying. A freezing cold drop of rain landed on the tip of John's aquiline nose, causing him to glance upwards, another landing on his cheek. A storm was coming. 

"We better hurry." John piped up, as more drops of rain fell on them, steadily falling faster and faster. The two started to move faster, John instantly regretting him not bringing a coat, Ringo burst out in laughter.

"Of course this fookin' happens! 'm wearin' me new bloody shirt I got for th' ball!" Ringo grabbed a nearby fallen newspaper and holding it above his head. It didn't do much, though, as the paper grew almost instantly soggy and the water soaked through. At this point, it was bucketing down relentlessly, the flashing of lightning growing closer, the booming of thunder growing more louder and frequent. 

"Oh shu' up, 's only rain! C'mon, let's jump in puddles!" John cried as he leaped into one in the gutter, causing the dirty water to completely soak the bottom of his pants and onto Ringo's clothes, who exclaimed in protest, but after a few seconds of silence, they both just burst out in laughter, and took off into the streets. Kicking up and leaping into every puddle they could see, they danced around crazily in the rain, flicking water at each other and laughing all the while. John even tripped at one point and fell straight into a puddle, which immediately soaked the front of his pants and shirt, but Ringo just laughed at him and jumped into it next to him, both of them rolling in it, glad there was no one in the streets as they would literally be kicked out. A particularly raucous boom of thunder sounded, and they both leaped up, taking off until they reached the street where the manor was situated, and the two ran up to the front gates. The royal guards were standing out the front, umbrellas protecting them from the rain. They didn't react when Ringo and John came up to it, but he knew they recognised the prince so they opened up the gates. John swore he saw one of the guards whisper to the other while staring at the two who were completely drenched. 

"This is where I leave off. See ya, mate!" Ringo laughed, the shorter boy pulling John into a tight hug before hurrying off, waving wildly with a grin as he disappeared down the street. 

"See ya!" John called with a grin, as the guards shut the gates and John was forced to make his way inside. Preparing himself for an onslaught from Mimi, he opened up the door and slipped his way inside, grabbing a coat and wetting it slightly and covering his drenched clothes so it looked like he wasn't too wet. But there was no one there. There was a shuffling, though, and Mimi came out from the front room with his half-sisters, who were sobbing uncontrollably, clinging onto each other. Her face was pained and grief shone in her eyes as she hurried over to John, pulling him into a tight hug for the first and only time.

"Mimi...wha-"

"Julia is dead." 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hELLO GAMERS AHHH hope yall enjoy this chapter !!! its a real doozy aye. dont have much to say, except schools been going well for me and ive made a friend and i am now in a band as the drummer !!! im legit so happy its so much better than my old school. sorry updates are a little sporadic bc of it ofc, sorry in advance !! anyways hope u enjoy the chap, poor john :((( ahhh ok see yall later !! <333 love u all sm


	13. twelve.

november 1858

For the first month it didn't really register. His mind was blank, devoid of proper, coherent thought for a long time. Most days spent lying in bed, staring up to the ceiling, eyes unfocussed and not really looking at anything. He would try and get up to do things, especially if Mimi would bother him to do something or other, but he couldn't bring himself to. His body was chained permanently to the bed, not eating, sleeping or washing himself. Ringo, George and Pete would visit every now and again, coming to sit on the edge of his bed next to him, try and prompt him to eat, or go have a bath. They would say something along the lines of; _"I'm so sorry, John... is there anything I can do to help you?"_ every time they were there. They would squeeze his arm or shoulder with that horrible, sickly sweet sympathy, genuinely concerned and sad for him but unknowing of what it was really like. George, a bit better, since he had lost siblings. But never a parent.  
Stuart even came one day, too. His expression was unreadable, but John was grateful of his presence. They just sat in silence, until his ex-lover laid down beside him, entwining their hands, both staring up at the ceiling in silence. When the prince woke up, Stuart was gone.

He couldn't remember what really made him snap. Maybe it was something Mimi said or did, maybe his friends said something. Maybe it was nothing at all. It was late at night, another sleepless night occurring for the prince, when he finally realised. She was gone. He would never meet his mother, get to know her, hug her, touch her jacinth locks that bounced every time she took a step. He could vaguely remember her seashell eyes from the many years ago, where she persisted on seeing her son before giving up finally when he was about ten, never to be seen again. Killed by a drunk carriage rider, who hadn't been in control of his horse, which went awry and ran her over. He had cried a lot that night, screaming into his pillow and dissolving into a grief-stricken, anguished mess. He could hear footsteps coming to his door, but no one came in. He suspected now that it was Mimi, not really paying attention when it had actually happened.

_"I hadn't even gotten ta know her. I never got ta even see 'er house!" A bellow ripped from John's throat, all muscles clenched, veins surfacing on his forehead and neck, face turned red with fury. "Ye never fuckin' told me. Never, ever told me where she lived. Ye never let me proper meet 'er. How fuckin' could ye, Mimi? How could ye?"_

His previous words echoed in John's mind. That fight occurred a day after the funeral. Only a very small amount of people attended, all having to wear disguises to keep it under wraps. Mimi, John, his half-sisters, a couple family members who were let in on the secret of John not actually being Mimi's son, and that Julia had run out on the royal family to be with Alfred, plus George and Ringo. It was the second and last time Mimi was ever that lenient, letting John's friends attend, since she knew how much they meant to him, even if she disagreed with their friendship due to their class. 

But what really had began to pull him from his worst state, was properly seeing Paul, sober this time, no mask either. It was a cold, wintry afternoon in early November, and John had been curled up in bed, head pounding from a morning of crying, eyes inflamed and painful to have open or closed. There had been a gentle knock on the door, Ringo and George slipping in, the same expressions of slight apprehension and worry on their faces, as if the wind had changed once Julia died and their expressions were stuck that way. 

_"'ey, Johnny." George started. "Do ye think ye could get up today? Want ye ta meet someone, get a couple o' drinks, maybe. Loosen up a bit."_

_"Who?" The prospect of alcohol made his mouth water, and that was the only reason he didn't immediately tell them to shove off. _

_"Paul." Ringo spoke up softly, going to sit on the bed next to him for the thousandth time. _

_"No fookin' way. Fuck off, please." The words spilled immediately from his chapped lips. "Don't really feel like gettin' bashed on fer bein' a royal, thanks, mate." He flipped over, back facing them as he curled in on himself closer, refusing to comply. _

_"I know what yer thinkin' John; but please. Trust us. This will help ye."_

After a few minutes of the three jumping back and forth, trying to convince John, the dishevelled boy had finally caved in, slowly slipping out of bed for the first time in a month for a purpose other than going to the loo.

Seeing Paul was.... mixed feelings at first. The boy was sitting in his room, wrapped up in a torn, smelly blanket, by himself as he was delved deep in a book, expression showing his deep involvement into the story. John almost didn't want to disturb him.

_"Paul? John's 'ere, and we got booze." _

_The younger boy had torn his gaze from the pages, his entire countenance immediately turning sour as he turned back to his book at seeing John standing there, pulling it closer to his face and glaring at it. _

_"'m busy."_

_"Paul." Ringo spoke, a slight firmness to it, his expression deadly serious as he walked over to the boy, kneeling down beside his friend and leaning to whisper in his ear. The doe-eyed boy looked up, eyes growing wide in shock, before he turned to John, gaze softening, mixed emotions reflected in them._

That night was the first good night he had had since the day of finding out.... the news. There wasn't much said at first, Paul just patted the spot next to him, scooting over to make room for the prince, who slowly sat down next to him, feeling his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. His gaze hadn't moved from John since Ringo had whispered in his ear. The auburn-haired boy had wondered, why was he staring at him like that? Ringo and George sat opposite them, placing the cardboard box they had brought between them all and pulling out the many bottles that had been put in it. Paul picked two up, opening both and handing one to John, their fingertips brushing against each other, John feeling electricity shooting up his arm, every hair standing on edge as his cheeks flamed even harder. It was just the fact that Paul's fingers were cold as hell, John had suspected. 

The four drunk in silence for a bit, until Paul finally spoke up, having stared at the vulnerable boy for a while.

_"It's horrible, innit?" _

_John huffed, taking another large swig and glaring at the floor. "How do ye know? Ye dunno shit." _

_There was tense silence between them all, the air thickening more and more as Paul grew cold, turning away with a stony expression._

_"An' how do ye know I dunno shit, huh? Wha' makes ye so fuckin' sure?" _

_"Because-"_

_"I lost me fuckin' mum, alrigh'! Don't gimme tha' daft shit." The boy had risen his voice considerably, and those words had caused John to fall silent, ducking his head low and fiddling with a bottle top guiltily. _

_"Sorry." He had spoken after a few minutes of tense silence, it was so tense John could feel every hair on his skin, goosebumps rising and he felt choked by the suddenly hot, thick air. _

_"'s alrigh'." Paul's voice was just above a hoarse whisper, taking out a pipe and shakily lighting it, eyes reflecting vulnerability as memories of his mother filled his head, taking a deep puff of it, tilting his head back with a sigh, the smoke billowing into the stale air of the room. Neither of them had noticed that George and Ringo had slinked out with knowing looks, leaving the two to talk about things they didn't know about, taking some of the beers with them for themselves. "Want?" The ebony-haired boy held out the pipe for John, locking eyes with the boy again._

_"Yeah." He took it and sucked a long, deep puff, sighing as he felt the nicotine and alcohol start to work on his body, loosening the muscles and all tension, but giving way to the influx of thoughts that threatened to burst, spill from his brain and out his ears._

They had talked a lot that night. Mainly memories they had of their mothers, even though John didn't have that much. Then the conversation dissolved into other things, whatever came up into their minds, what food they liked, whether they played instruments. John learned that Paul played the piano, but had to give it up to pay for hospital expenses for his mother. Which evidently didn't work. By the time they were too tired and drunk to speak, the moon was high in the sky. It must have been two or three in the morning. Before he had known it, he had rested his head onto Paul's shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, slumber taking its hold of the grieving boy. Paul sat there for a bit, thinking to himself as he leaned his cheek on top of John's head, eyes lidded and drooping with fatigue. Before long, he had fallen asleep too. 

By the time the younger boy had woken up in the late morning with a pounding headache and a hangover, not as bad as the last time he got drunk though, John was gone.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys sorry sorry for the wait aHH hope yall had a good valentines ! i did nothing but eat ice cream and watch movies lmaoo. anyways hope yall enjoy this chap, some paul n john bonding which i decided to give a little for valentines! sorry its shorter than usual ive just been busy as fuck with school n all and writers block beatin my fuckin ass oops. anyways hope yall enjoy ,, see ya later !! <333


	14. thirteen.

january 1859

"I swear his balls went righ' up into 'is body. It was hilarious." 

"Yeah!! His fookin' face.. good times." Ringo guffawed, adjusting his position of leaning against the large willow tree to be more comfortable, taking another puff of the pipe. It was a lazy, mid-temp morning, not cold enough to be inside, but cold enough to warrant George, John and Ringo to nick the manor-owned overcoats. The sky was blanketed in ivory-grizzled clouds, completely covering it with no end in sight. George and Ringo had escaped their parent's clutches to take a break to hang out in their usual hangout spot, next to the lake under the willow trees, John prompting them do to so. They were just talking about what had occurred at Paul's sixteenth birthday.

"No more fuckin' schooling fer me, aye? It's over. Th' only thing left is th' weddin'..." John sighed, tilting his head back, not before snatching the pipe off of Ringo and taking a puff, ignoring his whiny protests. 

"When is th' wedding, by th' way, Johnny?" George piped up from eating his sandwich, the nearly-sixteen-year-old speaking through his mouthful. 

"Chew firs', ye grotty bastard!" Ringo whacked his best friend across the head with his apple, who giggled and whacked him back, prompting the two to start wrestling and rolling around in the grass, dirtying George's waiter uniform.

"Guys, can ye not righ' now? Jeez." John rolled his eyes with a chuckle, watching his friends fight, taking another puff before reaching and sneaking a bite of George's other, spare sandwich. "It's on January 5th next year."

The two stopped fighting immediately, Ringo halfway through trying to take a bite out of George's sandwich, the hollow-cheeked boy barely able to fend the older boy off. 

"Oh shit, really? That's so soon.. jus' less than a year!" George spoke, eyes wide as Ringo rolled off of him, moving to set back next to John, expression concerned. 

"Yeah." John sighed again, expression growing somber as he fiddled with a piece of lettuce, twiddling it back and forth, eyes glued to his lap. Apprehension grew like a flower inside his chest, snaking around his torso and up his throat to his brain. His life will be pretty much over after that. "They wanted ta make it quick, so Mimi can be replaced an' I'll be king."

"How do ye feel abou' tha'?" George took the last bite of his sandwich, crossing his legs and watching John. 

"I... I dunno, really. It's still processing." John paused. He knew exactly how he felt, but he didn't want to admit it to them. The thought of losing them was probably the most terrifying thing to him at that moment, but he'd never tell them that. "I'll be okay, in th' end."

"Are ye sure? I can tell yer not tellin' us everythin', John. Come'ead, spill." Ringo nudged the prince with his shoulder. John flicked his gaze nervously between his two friends, wondering what to say. Should he spill the beans? He didn't want them to think he was weak, they had already seen enough of that after Julia. 

"I-"

"Excuse me, Prince Lennon, Mr. Starkey, Mr. Harrison." Mr. Epstein called, walking over, posh as ever, hands behind his back. John stopped speaking, the three whipping around to look at him. "Dearly sorry to interrupt, but Miss Powell has just arrived to visit and stay the night. I was advised to escort Prince Lennon to the front to greet her." 

"Oh, I didn't know she was comin'-"

"Yes, it is on short notice, but Queen Mary informed me that you had no previous plans. Mr. Harrison, you are meant to be helping out setting up morning tea! What on earth happened to your uniform? Please get a new suit and go do your job, quickly now." Brian raised an eyebrow angrily at George, gesturing to the manor, the boy scrambling off with a quick wave goodbye to his friends.

"Wait, Geo! Meet 'ere tonigh', yeah?" 

"'Kay! See ya!" He called before hurrying away into the gardens towards the servant's back entrance.

"Right, let us go, Prince Lennon. Mr. Starkey, I advise you return home." Brian spoke sternly to the boy, who nodded before smacking John on the back, saying his goodbyes and slipping away, exiting through the side path so as not to be seen by anyone. The servant then started to guide John away, who winked and made an obscene gesture at him, causing Brian to scoff and roll his eyes, turning away with a slight blush dusting his pale cheeks. "Behave yourself, please, your highness." 

"That's boring, innit, Eppy? Who got anywhere by behavin', aye?" John struck a ballet pose, before twirling around and doing (horrible) pirouettes, all the while a shit-eating grin was plastered on his face, locking eyes teasingly with the older man. 

"Many people in the world. In fact, it's quite the opposite of what you stated. Now please, be quiet, I don't need your stress, I have a lot required to do today." Brian grew more flustered, hurrying the boy along faster as they entered the manor and made their way through the many halls and rooms to the front doors. 

"Not in a good mood, I see. See ya." John rolled his eyes, sending one last wink Brian's way before slipping out the front doors, leaving the older man behind as he went over to greet his fiance. 

"Greetings, Prince Lennon." Cynthia spoke up, as the boy held out a hand, being met with a delicate gloved one as the fair-haired girl was helped out of the carriage. Dressed in an overly puffy silk white dress, with gold trimmed lace and puffy sleeves and matching jewelry and a golden bow in her hair, she looked stunning, her lips pulled in a slight smile as John took her arm and they strolled back inside, thanking the carriage driver. 

"So how's my lovely lady doing?" He inquired as the two made their way to the study room led by John, as he always liked being there with Cynthia. They would often sit on the end of the sofa that was closest to the window, Cynthia in his lap, the two cuddled up close as they gazed out the window at the garden, talking about anything and everything. 

"Oh, just fine, thank you. What about my handsome man?" Cynthia giggled, turning to face the prince and clasping her hands around his. With a shit-eating grin, he reached and picked up the girl bridal style, who squealed in surprise before bursting into laughter as the auburn-haired boy plonked her onto the couch on her back, climbing on top with a wiggle of his eyebrows. "J-John! Careful of my jewelry-"

"Shhhh." He placed a finger on her lips before leaning down to place a few kisses at her jaw, but before he could move any further down, Cynthia gently placed a hand on his chest and pushed him slightly away.

"N...not right now, John, please. I'm not in the right mood."

"Oh, alrigh'." He slowly sat up, helping his fiance sit up too as she started to take off her jewelry and gloves and head bow, letting her hair down, the platinum locks falling over her shoulders, framing her pale, lovely face. She then slipped off her shoes and stood up, turning around and facing her half exposed back to John, who blushed slightly, staring at the curve of her back and her shoulder blades that half stuck out. 

"Could you loosen my dress and corset, please? It's a nightmare to wear. I've been getting bruises on my ribs again." 

"Of course." He reached up with nimble fingers to undo the knots of her dress, then slipping a hand under it to get to the corset, undoing that too and letting it fall open, half done up. He let his hand travel up her pale back slowly, the skin impeccably smooth under his touch, but before he could turn her around, she moved away from his touch. He felt disappointment fall flat in his chest, but he gave up after that, he wouldn't force her to do anything.

"Oh, fuck. That's so much better." Cynthia sighed loudly, dramatically falling onto the couch and kicking up her feet onto her fiance's lap, pretend fanning herself with a sad face. "Now I can finally relax instead of feeling like a horse is on top of my stomach all the time."

"I still don't understan' why ye gotta wear those things. If they make ye uncomfortable, why wear 'em?"

"You don't understand, John! It's what we're supposed to wear. It's _'inappropriate'_ to not wear a corset in public." She made a face as she said 'inappropriate'. "Most women even wear it almost all the time, the exception being bedtime. It's how we're supposed to dress. It's like..." She trailed off, twirling a string of hair between her fingers as she thought to herself. "If we didn't wear them, it would be like men going out in just a shirt and trousers and socks with shoes, y'know? That, to society, is seriously underdressed. So.. to society, no corset on women is seriously underdressed. You get shunned if you don't wear one." Her eyes grew somber as her gaze flicked to her lap, twiddling her thumbs together. 

"Oh." He spoke after a few moments of silence, and he reached to interlock his fingers with Cynthia's, eyes softening as he gazed at her. "'m sorry." 

"'s alright. Not your fault, y'know?" She smiled at him warmly, eyes sparkling with love as John laid down next to her, wrapping his arms around her, his fiance snuggling into his touch, causing him to grin widely. "God, you're so cute." Cynthia grinned and pecked his aquiline nose, which he scrunched up slightly in surprise, taken aback. 

"Shut up, 'm not. You are!" He felt his cheeks flush red as he whacked her lightly on the arm, not knowing how to react to praise. He always either melted or grew defensive at praise, Cynthia loved it when it was the former, watching as he turned into literal goo in the palm of her hand. 

"Nu-uh, I'm right and you know it! My little handsome boy!" She peppered kisses all over his face and jaw, and he let out a girlish giggle and buried his nose in the dip between her neck and shoulder, breathing in her light perfume.

"Stooop! 'm jus' a fat bastard." 

"Hey.. don't say that!" She pulled away, gently holding the sides of his face in her hands, John's face growing embarrassed and forlorn, cheeks flushing even deeper red. "That's not true whatsoever. You are the most handsome boy I know. Sure, you can be a bit of a bastard sometimes..." The prince tried to glare at Cynthia, but failed as a smile tugged at his lips. "Sorry! It's true." She held up her hands in surrender, before wrapping them around John's waist and pulling him closer. "What I'm trying to say is, you're amazing, John. Underneath all the spite and cutting words, you're a wonderful, loving person. And that makes you beautiful." 

John blinked slightly, feeling his throat close up slightly, but he ignored it. He couldn't cry in front of her. He was so lucky to have a girl like Cynthia, he felt he didn't deserve her, at all.

"Thanks, love. Truly." He smiled warmly and pressed his lips to hers, both of them melting into the affectionate kiss for a few moments before Cynthia pulled away with a smile, standing up and grabbing John's hands.

"Let's go for a walk in the garden, John."

And so they did, ending up lying in the grass in a clearing further down the property, away from prying eyes, talking and laughing, cuddling or kissing every few minutes. They both made flower crowns for each other with wild daisies, John failing miserably but Cynthia making a perfect one for the younger boy, and he protested and grew greatly embarrassed as Cynthia praised him for his cuteness over and over. It was pure, and sweet. In fact, it was the last time they ever felt truly in love with one another.

You all know what caused that.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys sorry this chapter took forever. my mental health has been slipping again and im struggling a bit but ill b ok. anyways hope yall enjoy this chapter, sorry its boring and theres no interaction with john and paul here, im saving it for next chapter, anyways ill shut up!. see u guys later,, leave comments please i need feedback.im really not feeling good about my writing as of lately. ok fr ill shut up bye ,,


	15. fourteen.

january 1859

It was a mid-temperature day. Not too hot, nor too cold. It was perfect weather to work, for Paul at least. You weren't so hot that you couldn't even hold onto the axe properly and you felt like you were literally in a waterfall of sweat, like you would sweat so much you'd end up melting into a pile of just... grimy sweat. But you weren't so cold either that you couldn't feel your face or hands, with only a flimsy, tattered coat to protect you from the snow and harsh winds. The doe-eyed boy felt pain shoot up his back once again as he swung the axe onto the piece of wood, sweat running down his bare arms as he worked in just a tank top and overalls, but it wasn't as bad as it was during the summer. The clouds were a stark white and blanketed the entire sky, but there was no rain or wind. The family were working, once again, and Paul was about to take a break, as Jane had called from the house that she had some bread and butter, and fresh lemonade she made to give. 

"Comin', Jane!" Paul called, wiping the sweat from his brow and letting out a loud sigh, the axe cluttering to the ground beside him as it slipped from his clammy palms. He then walked over to check on Mike and his dad. "Ye two alrigh'?" He asked concernedly. 

"Yeah, 'm fine. Will join ye in a mo', jus' finishin' the las' few bits." Mike smiled, the fifteen-year-old gesturing to the house. "Go on. Save some fer me, though!" 

"I'll try." Paul grinned warmly at his younger brother and roughly ruffled his hair, who protested and jumped away.

"'ll clobber ye! Stay back, foul beast!" He held up the axe with a grin, pretending to loom over him, though he was much shorter. Paul started to back away with his hands held up in surrender, face contorted into mock fear, not bothering to suppress his grin though.

"Please, sire, don't hurt me! I am but an innocent damsel!" He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, pretending to faint, fanning himself with the other. They both burst into laughter, leaning against each other as Paul wiped a tear from his eye before the doe-eyed boy called his goodbyes and turned to go back inside, but slowed when he felt eyes burning into his side, the gaze was weirdly intense and caused him to rub at his arm, glancing off to the side of the house.  
There were a cluster of large trees and bushes that snaked and climbed over the broken fence, covering the right side of the house. It was an area of forest that was going to be cut down to make way for more cheaply built houses, since there wasn't enough to house the poor. It was one of his favourite places from his childhood, he still went there to this day. He remembered countless days where, whenever he was upset, angry, or just needed to be by himself, he would run into the forest and to his secret place, where there was a dip in the earth and soft, lush grass created a bed-like area. Wildflowers were littered all around it, and there was a perfect gap in the trees so he could gaze up at the stars on a clear night. He still went there from time to time, he never told anyone about it, though. He wanted it to just be his place and his alone. Maybe other people knew about it, but he doubted it. It would be a sad day when they cut it all down.

"Hey! Psst, Paulie! Hellooooo??" There was a harsh whisper coming from the bushes, interrupting Paul's monologue. How long had he stood there, staring into the forest, looking like an idiot? He felt his cheeks flush and he glanced towards the bushes. A, sadly, familiar face popped out from it, shit-eating grin plastered on his face, a few stray leaves and twigs stuck in his auburn, wavy mop of hair.

"The f- John?" Paul stared at him with wide eyes, as if he was a deer caught in headlights. "The fuck ye doin'?" He whisper-yelled, running towards him and leaping over the fence in one jump and grabbing the boy, pulling him away from the house and a bit further into the forest, enough to be concealed but not enough to be close to his hangout spot. "Wha'. The. Hell. Lennon!" Paul hissed. "Go away. Yer not 'spose' ta be 'round these parts. An' don' call me Paulie." He glared with as much fury as he could muster (which wasn't much, as he looked like a disgruntled puppy) at the prince. 

"Well, jus' wanted ta pop in an' say hi. Why, do ye not like me?" The prince pulled a sad face, sticking out his bottom lip and doing puppy eyes, which, unfortunately, was extremely cute to Paul. _What? No, nah. I didn't think that._ He shook his head. _Just because his mum's dead doesn't mean I have ta like him._

"No, I don'. In the middle of workin', fuck off, will ye?" He rolled his eyes, before turning to walk off. Of course, John didn't give up so easily, and he jumped into Paul's field of vision, stopping the boy from walking any further by standing in front of him, that fucking annoying ass grin still present on his face, one eyebrow raised as he went to lean against a tree casually, slipping something out of his pocket and tossing it up and catching it nonchalantly. 

"Not even gonna invite me inside fer a cup o' tea?" He made the sad face again. 

"No. Would ye jus' leave?" Paul groaned and crossed his arms, trying to get past, but his path being blocked again. _God, he won't fuckin' give up, will he?_ Irritation bubbled in his throat, ready to spill out, but his heart beat incredibly fast when John's arm accidentally brushed his own. 

"Alrigh', alrigh', ye win. But..." John held up his hands in surrender, before he held out the little thing he was tossing back and forth, which turned out to be a little round-shaped object, wrapped in white paper with a gold string, tied in a bow. _The fuck?_ Paul raised an eyebrow at it. "Got a present fer ya." 

"Wha'? Th' fuck is it?" He snatched it off the boy, giving him one last glare before turning off to the side, nimble, but slightly shaky fingers untying the knot and opening the paper. It was a.... little lemon tart? Perfectly made and neat. The smell wafted up to his nose, mouth instantly watering. They never got food like this.. it was a dessert treat. He almost didn't know what dessert was. "A fuckin' tart? What ye try'na do, bribe me?" He glared at the boy, who had his hands shoved in his pockets, lopsided smirk playing on his lips. 

"No, no. Jus'... a peace offerin'. Truce?" He held out a hand to shake. "I know ye hate me because 'm th' prince o' Liverpool an' I could 'ave anythin' I could ever want an' ye guys can't even afford proper meals, but..." His face turned serious, and Paul could see the cogs working in his head as the boy retreated his hand, reaching to rub at the back of his neck, John realising what he had just said. He could see the instant regret on the prince's face, and he almost felt bad for him. But what John just said proved his point, and he felt anger travel through his chest again, face turning cold, permanent glare stuck on it. "Well, nevermind wha' I jus' said, but yeah." 

Paul huffed and tied up the tart and tossed it to the ground, before his hands tightened to fists and he pushed past the older boy. "Bye." He felt his heart sink slightly as he heard nothing from John, who hadn't bothered to follow him. _Why was I such a tosser? Yer such an arse, Paul. His mum died not three months ago, fer christ's sake!_Paul quickly ducked behind a thick-bodied tree and peeked out from the side, watching the prince. 

"Well, I tried..." John muttered after a few moments of silence, shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking the nearest rock, before he started to walk off into the distance and out of sight, whistling a tune all the while. Once Paul was completely sure he was gone, the raven-haired boy ducked out from his hiding spot and nicked the tart from where he had tossed it to the ground before slipping it into his pocket. No one had to know. _Besides, the tart looked bloody good. 'm not gonna pass up an opportunity fer good food._

He then leapt back over the fence gracefully, strolling along as he made his way to the house. But, he was stopped once again as someone ran up to him, calling his name.

"Paul! Oi, Paul!" It was George, of course. The younger boy had a knowing grin, eyebrows raised as he came up to him.

Letting out a long sigh, he turned to his best friend. "Hi, Georgie. Whatcha' doin' 'ere?" 

"I saw 'im. Leavin' yer place." George nudged his friend before grabbing onto his arm, dragging him away from the house and back down the street, but the opposite way which John went, down further into the poorer areas, towards the market. Paul completely forgot about him going to meet Jane as he rolled his eyes, refusing to look at the lanky boy. Who had, quite frankly, shot up quite a bit in the last few months, almost as tall as Paul. By the time he was eighteen, he would probably be taller than all of them, Paul could feel it. 

"Who? Dunno wha' yer talkin' about." Paul slipped the tart from his pocket, reopening it and using it as an excuse to not look at his friend, knowing what his expression is. 

"Fuckin' John, duh! Saw 'im walkin' home. Come'ead, spill th' beans! Wha' happened?" 

"Nuffin'." Paul shrugged as he took a bite of the tart, acting as nonchalant as possible. _Woah, it's really fuckin' good. Glad I picked it up._

"Wait, where'd ya get that? Is tha' from John?" George's dark eyes lit up, lopsided grin painted on his face as he reached to snatch it off his older friend.

"Oi! Gerroff!" He pulled it away from George's clutches with a glare, turning his attention back to the little treat. "Maybe. Doesn't know I took it, though. I threw it to th' ground an' fucked off, bu' I came back fer it." 

George let out a laugh, throwing his head back before nudging his friend again. They finally reached the market, the area around them bustling with people, and they had to clutch onto each other to stay together. "Knew ye'd keep it. So, ye warmin' up to 'im?" 

"Quite frankly, no." Paul flashed a stern look at George, warning him to _'stop talking about it right now before I shove the remains of this tart up yer arse.'_

"Giz' us a taste o' that tart?" George begged, trying to reach for the tart once again, and the droopy-eyed boy sighed before breaking off the tiniest crumb he possibly could, and holding it out in front of George. He struggled to suppress his laughter as he saw his friend's face fall with disappointment. "C'mon, don't be mingy!" He whined, making grabby hands towards it again. And Paul, being the _oh-so-kind-and-generous_ friend he was, rolled his eyes before breaking the last bit he had in half and slapping it into his annoying friend's hand, smushing it a little by doing so. But did George care? Nope. He slurped the entire thing up in one bite.

"Mmmm.. my god, it's fuckin'- so good." The boy moaned loudly as he savoured the taste, causing Paul to grimace and shove the boy, as people had glanced over at the two boys in confusion and slight disgust.

"Shu' up, ye grotty bastard." 

"Wha'? Jus' expressing my delight with this tart." George wiggled his bushy eyebrows with a smirk (or should I say, _eyebrow._)

"Wha'ever, ye naff."

"Prat."

"Wanker." 

"I'll throttle ya!"

"Ye wouldn't!" George gasped in mock offence. 

"I bloody well would." Paul giggled, clenching his fists together and making a grunt noise, lifting his arms and showing off his _'muscles'_, pressing a smooch to both (non existent, due to the fact he was as skinny as a twig) biceps.

"Wha'ever. Let's jus' go get those candies tha' guy sells at th' end."

"Yer payin'."

"Fine." 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys im so sorry for the longass wait, not really been in the best state of mind lately due to me not being able to be on my anti-depressants atm (wont go too into it rn) so its been hkfkjkjd hard to write. hope u guys enjoy this chapter ! it took me legit forever . okey see u guys later ! hopefully the next chap will b out soon :')


	16. fifteen.

february 1859 

"Paul! Wake th' fuck up, there's a letter fer ya!" Something hard and pointy was thrown at his face, poking him in the eye as he cried out, sitting up quickly and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, groaning loud. What a lovely way to wake up in the morning. Mike yelling in your ear and throwing a letter in your face. Just wonderful. 

"Mmgnhhg.... fuck off ye naff cunt. I'll bash ye later .... mark my words..." The demon that festered inside Paul decided to pop out at that moment as he glared with all the fury and raw anger he could muster, hair sticking up in all directions and expression still groggy and eyes glassy from sleep, bags hanging under them; the wisps of his dream still floated around him, which was something about running in a field filled with strawberries with a fluffy sheepdog at his feet? And George, Ringo and someone else was with him, but their face was blurred out so he couldn't identify who it was. They were all wearing weirdly colourful clothes that he had never seen before in his life, and George had a half-grown beard, Ringo a moustache. They seemed to be in their mid to late twenties. It was weird... but he brushed the dream away as some weird fever dream possibly. It didn't matter at the moment anyway.  
Mike was dead meat, and he knew that, so he ducked away and hurried from the bedroom with a giggle. He swore his older brother's eyes had turned red and steam had come out his ears. 

"Right, th' letter..." Paul huffed slightly and let out a loud yawn before picking up the letter that had fallen in his lap. There didn't seem to be an address or anything written on the poorly-stuck-together envelope, so he knew who it was; he was surprised his friend didn't just come here and wake him up like he usually does. 

Pulling it apart and grimacing at the slobber (there was no such thing as glue yet) which coated the area around the bit that was stuck together, showing off George's poor envelope.. sticking-together skills.  
It read in bold, jagged letters;

POEL I TULD U TO CUM OVER TOODAY YOR LATE GET HEAR NOW CUNT I HAVE TO PEEPARE FOR THA PARTEE GET HEAR  
FROM GORGE :)

"Oh fuck! The party. George's probably pissed." Paul leapt up from his spot, leaving the letter there as he bounded to his small suitcase of clothes, getting changed within a matter of seconds and slipping shoes on, ignoring his father, who called out to him. 

"Paul? Where are ye goin' so soon? Ye got yer buttons wrong!" 

"George's, da'! Th' party, remember? See ya tonigh', or tomorrow possibly!" Paul glanced down, seeing he had put two different coloured socks on, and his buttons were one off. He flashed an 'innocent' grin at his father, who looked none too impressed as his expression turned stern.

"Be home by ten!"

"Can't promise anythin'! Bye!" The boy gave one last wave before he left the house, stuffing his hands in his pockets and humming to himself.

He was confused as to why George couldn't just come over to tell him, but maybe he was too busy trying to prepare for the party that would start in... Paul glanced up at the sky, it seemed to be about just past midday, probably three in the afternoon, and George planned on it starting at five. Jesus, Paul got up late today. He knew why, unfortunately.

Ever since that day when John came around, his nights have been pretty much sleepless. At night the boy plagued his thoughts like a fucking disease. In the morning. Afternoon, evening, all fucking day and night. John's eyes haunted his dreams, small and almond-shaped, coloured a lovely, rich chocolate, like acorns. Or milky coffee. Or the trunk of a tree. Or a delicious chocolate treat. Surprisingly long lashes that brushed his cheeks when he blinked. He could go on for hours and hours. The prince's eyes reminded him of cat's eyes. He didn't know why he thought about this boy so much, he couldn't pinpoint it whatsoever. He was losing his mind. Why was he losing sleep over John? It's been weeks since he came by. Every time George brought him up after that day, Paul's cheeks would flush, remembering the many nights where he would lie awake, thinking of the boy and his strong, rough hands.. what? He shook that away with a grimace. No way. He had never thought this much or in this way about somebody.. especially a man. Sodomy was illegal... he would get hanged for it. It was disgusting, and very, very wrong. He would become a disgrace to his family and friends, his father would kick him out.. George and Ringo would never talk to him again. Then he would be publicly hanged in front of the entire city, pretty much. He would never, ever like a man, anyway. He liked girls, and girls alone. 

"Oi, Paul, ye fucker! Yer late, come'ead, 'elp me with th' food." George's voice cut through his thoughts and he came to with a jump. He was already outside George's house, having known the way there well enough that he didn't have to pay attention. "Did I scare ya? In yer own world again?" George smirked evilly as Paul slipped past his friend into the Harrison household, refusing to look at his friend. George had picked up on Paul's sudden mood change in the past weeks, becoming nervous and jittery, and constantly drifting off with flushed cheeks. He had a suspicion as to why, but he figured unlikely. Paul was as straight as a stick, though he doesn't exactly look it. Right?

"'m fine, Geo." Paul sighed, then clapped his hands together, turning to the boy. "Now, let's get to work!" They then began their preparation. John had supplied all the foods as he had stolen them from the royal's kitchen, so it was absolutely top notch food that none of them had ever experienced, and probably never will again, unless John decided to fund another party. Thinking of the prince made a shiver go down Paul's spine, and he rid himself of his thoughts by sneaking back to his house with George to steal more of his father's alcohol (he hadn't quite noticed yet that a lot of it was gone, somehow), then setting up the lounge and bedrooms, making sure cleaning supplies were at hand to clean up if they ended up trashing the place. His parents were off visiting family for the week, leaving George behind due to him making the excuse that he was sick (even though he very much wasn't) and he now had the house to himself. How would he use that, you ask? Parties. Duh. 

It was almost five pm, and Ringo had arrived a bit earlier than the others, being immediately pulled into a crushing hug from George, which went on for a little too long, causing Paul to gently cough, the two pulling apart hastily, cheeks red.

"Wow! Ye went full out on th' booze, aye?" Ringo noticed the piles and piles of bottles, and slipped one out and opened it for himself with a grin. "I can tell wha' kinda party this is gunna be now."

They all chuckled before taking one for themselves, Paul taking a large swig and sighing contentedly. "How many people did ye invite again, Geo?"

"I dunno, around thirty or so. Not too much, wanted it ta be a bit more special, since it is my sweet sixteen, after all." George shrugged and took a sip, before there was a knock on the door, and George sprung up with a grin, hurrying to the door and flinging it open.

"Aye, John!" The boy held his arms wide, and the prince grabbed him into a bone-crushing hug, an 'oof!' being heard from the shorter boy being crushed in John's arms. 

"Happy sixteenth, my son! Look how ye've grown! Almost taller than yer old man, eh?" His adapted, thick Liverpudlian accent was strong as John let a wide grin caress his face, giving George a once over and gesturing to his limbs, as if showing off how much George had grown.

"Sack it, la'!" George huffed and shoved the boy, before making his way back to Ringo's side and hiding behind him, peeking out cheekily from the corner. "Rings, 'e's bullyin' me! Save meeeeeee!" 

"I'll protect ye, my queen!" Ringo stood, chest puffed out, in front of his best friend, fists clenched as he held them up. "Have at thee!"

"I'll get ya in the end, George Parisol!" John manically laughed as he launched himself at Ringo, falling to the floor in a mass of flying limbs, rolling around and tussling back and forth. Paul watched on with amusement, taking another sip from his beer, eyes fixed on John. His wide grin made the doe-eyes boy's heart race, watching how happy the prince was to be with his friends. He could tell that he was genuinely happy with George and Ringo, and for some reason it made his heart soar. I guess because he still manages to find happiness even though he's a prince.. if I was him it would be hard for me to find happiness in my life. 

"Oi! George! More people!" Paul piped up when he heard another knock on the door, and voices chattering behind it. The ebony-haired boy decided to go answer for himself when he saw George and Ringo being chased down the hallway by John, their loud laughter and screaming echoing through the small stone-based house. "Oh, aye Pete. Other Pete." The two Pete's grinned and greeted Paul before slipping past him into the house, carrying a bunch of beer in a box. And.." He trailed off. There was an unfamiliar young girl standing there, blonde hair tied up in a neat bun, scraggly clothes hanging off her thin body, big blue eyes blinking up at him. A smile graced her lips and revealed a gap tooth. "Who are you, miss?" Paul smiled softly, blinking slightly. Woah, George invited this chick? He wondered how the boy managed to pick her up. She was fit. If he wasn't already going for her, Paul thought he might try it himself. 

"Hi! I'm Pattie. 'm here fer George's party? He said ta come to..." She trailed off and looked at a small piece of paper. "Th' house a few doors to th' right of the big red one."

"Yeah, tha's us. George doesn't know how ta write his own address down." Paul chuckled, before deciding to turn the charm up real high, letting a soft smirk grace his lips as he fluttered his eyelashes slightly, knowing it always made girls blush the way he would stare at them. Of course, it worked, and Pattie giggled nervously and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks flushing as she glanced at her feet. 

"Oi, Paul, who's it-" George cut himself off as he saw who was standing there, before he grinned wide and his cheeks flushed. (everyone's cheeks flushing today huh damn) "Hi Pattie! Come'ead, a few people are here already. Lemme introduce ya!" He took the girl inside, catching her attention away from Paul quickly.

"Aye, Geo! Who's that fit bird?" Paul whispered in George's ear, Pattie chatting to Pete Best who she had come with on their way here and not paying attention to what they were doing.

"That's Pattie, my new girlfriend, an' ye better back off before I clobber ya, McCartney. She's mine." He hissed back with a furious glare at Paul, who chuckled and put his hands up in surrender.

"Alright, alright, I'll back off; chill out." Paul stepped back, watching as George turned to Pattie and the two fell into conversation, the newly sixteen year old introducing her to all his friends. Paul's mind drifted to John again, who he saw chatting to Pete Shotton, laughing and taking sips of their beers. Before he could get too deep in thought about the prince, there were more knocks on the door so Paul went to go answer. There Jane was, with a few guys that they had met around town a few times, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Brian Jones, Bill Wyman, Charlie Watts, Mick Taylor, Ian Stewart, and some others. Paul's friend Bowie was there too, and he gave a wave to the boy, who grinned back. He greeted them all and let them in, not missing where Mick flashed a wink Paul's way before turning back to talk to Keith. Mick was a funny character, but Paul liked him a lot. Good company to talk to at the market when he would go there with George, as Mick had a stall selling cheap jewellery with Keith there. 

"'ello, Jane. Come in." The girl took his hand and gave a sickly sweet smile to her crush, clinging onto his side as they came back inside; Paul didn't notice the stare that was directed his way from a certain auburn-haired boy. 

"Righ', it's around six now, guys!" George called out, catching people's attention. "Few more people need to arrive, keep eating an' drinking, once everyone's 'ere, we're gonna start a game!"  
Everyone gave a cheer and some slapped the boy on the back, before everyone turned to chat loudly again. Paul had now finished his first beer, and he already felt much looser and comfortable, a warm feeling spread throughout his body. More knocks on the door, George opened them this time, a guy named Stu came with a girl named Astrid, who was German. Paul was told they were friends of John's. Stu and Astrid had met when Stu had travelled to Germany to exhibit his art at small galleries more, and Astrid ended up travelling back to Liverpool with her lover to stay with him for a few months before she would go back. Then a few more people trickled in, a boy named Elton John, who was good friends with George and would play piano ditties for them during the party and hang out, and a few others Paul didn't really recognise. Then two more girls came shortly after them, and the party was now in full swing. People grew more comfortable as the large amounts of alcohol people had brought worked on them, filled up on the amazing foods like tarts and pies, chocolates, fruits, and other variants. Everyone complimented on them and asked where they got it all from, and John got all the credit due to him supplying it. They didn't dwell on it much though as people began to get suspicious about John. If they knew he was the prince of Liverpool, it would not turn out well, so that was brushed aside. Jolly music filled the room as Elton played on the Harrison's piano, other people taking turns as well, and some people began to make up songs along with it, singing along to the jaunty sea tunes that were a lot more upbeat and joyful compared to orchestra music. After about twenty minutes of people getting relaxed and chatting away, George grabbed their attention once again, snapping his fingers and raising his voice.

"Hey guys! Everyone!" They all fell silent as they turned to look at the birthday boy, who had an arm around Pattie's waist and an empty beer bottle in the other, his cheeks flushed deep pink due to alcohol and his movements ever so slightly wobbly. "Guess wha' time it is..." He trailed off for dramatic effect, before then raising his arms and pointing to the doorway leading to the street. "Hide an' seek!" Everyone burst into cheers. "We're gonna play it out in tha' street, no hiding in this house! Ye can't g-go into anyone else's 'ouse either, or anywhere else other than this street, though. Now, me an' Rings are gonna be th' catchers.... we're givin' forty seconds. Ready.... GO!" 

And with that, everyone bustled to get out the door as fast as they could, with excited yells and chattering as everyone filtered out, George and Ringo in the corner, backs turned to them and counting down from forty as loudly as they could.  
Paul wasn't really looking forward to this but he darted out the house anyway and hurried down the street, seeing people dashing behind other houses and diving into long grass or up into trees, or hiding under a chair on someone's porch. He hurried to find a spot, going to hide in some long grass behind a rickety fence, but he then spotted Keith and one of the girls making out there so he hurried away, deciding not to disturb them. The next spot, behind a table on a porch, was taken by three people who told Paul to piss off, so he quickened his pace further down the street. He could hear Ringo and George had already reached fifteen and he groaned in annoyance. One last spot was in an alleyway, but again there was a couple making out there, and doing some.. other things, so he huffed in irritation, turning away. Why does every fucking couple have to take this as advantage to do shit they could do in one of the bedrooms later on or back at their own house? Before he was about to give up, he then spotted a large communal bin lying on the ground next to the porch of the second last house, looking as if it could fit three people, and he made a dash for it. He threw it open and slipped inside as he heard his two best friends call out five, not paying attention to what could already be inside (he presumed just rubbish as it was a bin).

"Paul, th' fuck? This is my hiding spot. Fuck off!" It was John. He was already in there before Paul had even got there , and he was flashing a glare at him.

"Sorry! Too late, can't get out!" Paul then jumped as he saw the lid open and Jane leapt in and the lid closed with a loud thud. Immediately, Paul was then shoved right up against John, as there was almost no space for three people. His breath hitched and his skin that was connected with John's felt like it was on fire, his brain going overboard and his cheeks flushing deep red. He thanked the gods it was dark in there, and he felt his heartbeat pick up its pace as John shifted ever so slightly, his fingertips brushing against Paul's upper thigh. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-  
"Jane?!" John and Paul spoke in unison, before flashing another glare at each other straight after. Paul almost felt he would faint right then and there as his eyes locked with John's, breath shallow and fast as he struggled not to melt into a fucking puddle of goo right then and there.

"Hi! Sorry, I saw Paul come in 'ere so I decided to come in after. It's a little squishy here..." She grinned at them as she shuffled slightly, the rubbish below them rustling under their weight. 

"Yeah." Paul spoke half-breathlessly, catching the attention of Jane who stared at him confusedly. The three were pressed tightly against each other. If Jane wasn't there, there would be enough space for Paul to be not touching John, and he wouldn't be feeling this way at all. He felt the air slowly becoming thicker and thicker, his eyes growing wide as John leaned over the boy to peek out a small hole that was in the rusted metal bin; his neck was only inches away from Paul's face, and he couldn't stop staring at the dip between John's neck and shoulder. A whiff of lingering smoke, booze and a hint of mint drifted to Paul's nose, and he felt his mouth water. So many thoughts were running through his mind right at that moment, and he swore he felt his skin and muscle was melting off his body, leaving nothing but bones behind. 

"I can see 'em." John's voice was a hoarse whisper, and Paul's mind went to sinful places at hearing it. "They've found Stu an' Astrid, probably because they were moanin' so loud they were 'bout ta get th' whole neighbourhood screamin' at 'em." The prince chuckled. Paul wished John hadn't said the word moaning. He noticed that Jane had noticed Paul almost self-combusting, and he gave her a smile and tried to calm himself down, trying not to tense up when the girl placed a hand on his knee. John then ducked away from the hole with a gasp as he placed at hand to his mouth, trying not to snicker as he leant back in his spot, curling up into a ball, his thigh rubbing against Paul's, whose mind filled with thoughts again and he stiffened, eyes staring ahead. Why couldn't John just not have been in this fucking spot? Why couldn't Paul have just braved the couples getting it on and hidden next to them? 

"Fuck, they're gettin' closer. Everyone shurrup!" John shoved his face between his knees and covered the top of his head with his jacket, hoping to blend in with the colours of the bin as everyone fell silent, the air growing tense, at least for Paul, as the silence allowed his thoughts to taunt him again. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, the air growing sticky and hot as he felt John shift beside him, his fingertips brushing against his lower back, just inches away from where his arse was. He froze in his spot and struggled not to make a noise, gripping tightly onto the ends of his pant legs. Fuck, I fucking hate John Lennon so much. 

"Hereeeee, kitty kitty kitty..... come out, come out wherever ye are!" Ringo's slurred voice called out, footsteps growing louder as him and George grew closer to where John, Paul and Jane were hiding. "Don't hhhhide from ussssss......." 

"BAH!" George screamed in triumph as he threw open the lid of the bin, his drunken face peering in. "Found ye fuckers! Paul and Jane, I found 'em!" He yelled to Ringo, who hurried over and reached down to poke at the top of Paul and Jane's heads. They hadn't noticed John was there! Paul huffed as he lifted his head, rolling his eyes playfully and raising his hands in surrender.

"Ye caught us." He slowly stood up, Jane leaping out the bin and relieving Paul of the pain of being pressed up between two people. He then felt mischievous all of a sudden, and in revenge for John being a stupid hot piece of ass, he discreetly kicked the boy in the skin with his heel roughly, who then let out a squeak of pain.

"Oi! Who's tha'?" George grumbled and felt around in the dark bin before grabbing onto something, and pulling it away. Revealing John curled up in a ball in the corner, obviously hiding underneath his dark jacket. "John, slimy bastard! Come'ead! we caught ya!"

"Paul, ye fuckin' wanker! Ye tatted me out!" John groaned as he slowly stood up and crawled out of the bin, flashing a playful glare towards Paul, who smirked smugly and turned away.

"Didn't do nuffin'." The doe-eyes boy stepped out of the bin and stretched, taking a deep breath as he no longer felt suffocated pressed up against John. He didn't know why he was acting so fucking bonkers, he decided to blame it on the (almost) two beers he had consumed before the game. 

"Ye fuckin' did!" 

"Wha'ever. Go inside, cake is gonna be ready soon." Ringo pointed back to the house, and John, Jane and Paul began to make their way there, Jane attaching herself back onto Paul, who wasn't really looking forward to that happening for the rest of the night. He immediately went for another beer, feeling the need to loosen up even more after that while ordeal with John in the rubbish bin. (thats a sentence id never thought id write)  
After taking a long chug, probably longer than was necessary, he wiped his mouth with a burp. There were quite a few people here already, only the last few people needing to be found in the game. Elton had started to the music again, and people were beginning to dance. Paul noticed people were more and more drunk now, and he glanced outside, seeing the sun was now beginning to set, the sky turning lovely shades of orange, yellow and purple-pink, the sun almost disappearing in the horizon. 

"The winner of the game was David!" George and Ringo burst in, holding up David's arms who was giggling madly, obviously beginning to get quite drunk. Everyone burst into cheers for the third time that night, crowding around him and chattering loudly. Paul gravitated away from it, leaning against the kitchen counter and taking regular sips of his beer as he felt the substance beginning to cloud his mind, thoughts slowing and limbs growing heavier. 

He thought it would help rid his mind of John, but turns out... fuck no. It was increasing them more and more, all he could think about was John, and the view he had of the dip between his neck and his shoulder, and his hands and his nose and lips and face and eyes and eyebrows and hair and- Paul shut himself up. But he stared at him for a long time, the boy being too caught up in chatting to people and laughing away, growing drunker by the minute to notice Paul. But George saw him, and the boy sauntered over with a grin, nudging his best friend and pulling him from his staring session. 

"Eh, wot, Paul? Like wha' ye see?"

"Hm-huh? Mmm... dunno wha' yer talkin' about." Paul huffed and turned his attention back to his fourth beer, taking another swig. 

"Yer starin' at John, mate! Wha's goin' on?"

"m' not! Fuck off, Geo, fucks sssake..." Paul shoved his friend away with a groan, taking another swig from his bottle. "Ffffff-fff-fuckin' do th' cake thin' already..." His words became more slurred as he blinked feverishly, taking, once again, another swig from his bottle. George sighed and moved away, moving towards the giant cake that John had brought and unwrapping it from its package. 

"Yer already drunk off yer fookin' arse.... hehe, daft fffffuuckin idiot." George giggled at his friend, not seeing the hypocrisy in his words as he then called out to everyone. "Cake time, fuckers!"  
Everyone hurried over to where the two were and George handed out sloppily-cut slices one by one, the party-goers congratulating George on turning sixteen before moving back to where they all were, in the living room, dancing along to the music and yell-singing songs. By then, everyone was relatively drunk and dancing crazily around the house. Couples had begun to pair off, going to the backyard or the bedroom to screw and after a half hour, someone had rushed off to the front yard to throw up. It was now completely dark, with many candles and oil lamps to light up the house but that was it. Paul was now feeling empty inside, even though he was well full from slices of cake and beer and snacks, he felt quite empty. He hadn't really talked to many people that night, just stuck to the kitchen drinking beer and talking to Ringo and George occasionally. John hadn't spoken to him since the hide and seek game, and didn't notice Paul watching him the entire night either. It was only when Paul's attention was now turned to leaving when he noticed the raven-haired boy. 

"Geo..." Paul called out as he struggled to get up from sitting on the counter, wobbling on his feet as he searched for his friend. Of course, the boy had fucked off with that Pattie chick, and he saw Ringo sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall by himself with beer bottles littered around him, looking depressed, almost. "Bye, Rings... see ye t-tttt-tomorrow:" Paul said goodbye to his friend, who in response, turned to the side and threw up on the person who was dancing next to him's shoes then promptly passed out. 

Paul giggled at his best friend before then carrying his empty beer bottle (which, by then, was his seventh) and making his way out the house, twirling the dark glass in his hands back and forth as he walked past some passed out people in the yard and a couple doing ... something behind a bush, their drunken moans echoing through the street. Ignoring it, he began his journey home, body aching and struggling to keep his balance as he made his way down the pitch black, deserted street, only the light of the mood to guide him, which was surprisingly bright tonight, so bright it hurt his eyes... or it could just be his drunkenness.

"Well, I woke up late this morning...." Paul began to hum to himself, throwing the empty bottle behind him after attempting to get the last few drops into his mouth. "M-my head was in a whirl...." The time he had come up with after his mother died drifted through his head as he sang the words softly, drifting through the street. He felt someone's eyes trained on him, but he didn't bother to look around him, stumbling his way towards his house as he made it to his street, somehow. "Only then I realised.... I lost my little girl.." 

"Nice voice ye got there." A voice sounded from behind him just as the boy was making his way around the side of the house towards the forest. 

"Huh?" The boy whipped around in fear, then recognised it as John, so he relaxed, but felt his cheeks heat up at the sight. The last thing he needed was to deal with John at the moment. "Oh. Wha' ye want?"

"Nothin'. Yer singing voice is amazin', though. Ye shoulda sung when Elton was playin'. Do ye play piano?" John leaned against the fence as he grinned at Paul, making his way closer to him, albeit slowly so as not to scare him off. 

"Yeah. I do." Paul paused. "Used to."

"Oh. Why's tha'?" John tilted his head as he scooted even closer to Paul, who was now sinking to the ground, back leaning against the rickety fence. 

"Had to ... sell it. Cuz o' me mum. To try an' .... pay f-fer her expenses." Paul's demeanour grew somber as he curled in on himself slightly, tears welling in his eyes as he thought of his mum. "Made tha' song up fer her when I was fourteen." 

"I...'m sorry." John spoke after a few moments of tense silence. 

""s ok. Can... can ye jus' go 'ome? Wanna be alone." Paul's voice was just above a whisper and he sniffed, indicating that he was now crying. John couldn't see his face very well in the darkness. 

"O...... okay. See ya." John eventually backed away then turned to stumble off, huffing at the effort as he had to make his way across the entire city back home to the manor, but he probably would end up going back to George's and crashing as it was closer. 

Paul sat there for a while. He didn't know how long exactly, he cried a lot as he thought of his mum. After what seemed like years though, he didn't have the energy to cry anymore, and he slowly stood up. The motion caused him to throw up almost straight away, and he fell against the side of the house with a groan. He was gonna have the worst hangover tomorrow. Eventually he had made it to the window to his bedroom, and he lifted it open and slowly crawled through, glad that he managed to not slip and fall and make the loudest noise possible. 

"P-Paul? Is that ye?" Mike's shaky voice called out, followed by a harsh cough and a sniff.

"Aye, is me..." Paul muttered as he fell straight into his bed, not even bothering to change clothes as he fell asleep within five seconds of lying down.

"Paul.. please wake up." Mike called shakily with a sob, before another harsh cough wracked his thin body and he curled in on himself. Mike was getting sick. And for the McCartney family, that was a very, very bad thing. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYE SUP BITCHES (: it's 1am and i just finished this i'm super proud hope y'all enjoy !! i finished this somewhat early for once omaooo sorry for the wait, anyways enjoy aaahhh dnndnehehehehe they turning mutherfucking GAY (((; also what’s gonna happen to mikey aaaghh :((((( anyways hope y'all enjoy the chap!! see yaaaa <3


	17. sixteen.

february 1859

"I think 'm sick, da'.." 

Mike's raspy voice sounded weakly from the mattress. Those were the horrible words that Paul and Jim dreaded so badly. The raven-haired boy shivered and wrapped his lanky arms around himself as a cold feeling rushed up his spine. This was definitely not good, and he could see it on his father's face, which was taut and stark white, jaw clenched. Paul noticed a fleeting flash of fear in Jim's expression, which caused the boy's heart to sink. He had never seen his dad scared like that before. 

"Are you sure, son? What are yer symptoms?"

"Well, I' been coughing so much th' past few days.. sneezing a lot an' my nose is so runny.." Mike's faint voice drifted into the background as Paul stood there, anxiously tearing at a loose thread on his shirt as his vision unfocussed to a blur as he stared at the stone floor. He couldn't bear to listen to those words. How the hell are they gonna pay for it? They had next to no money at the moment, as they pretty much always have. They couldn't afford a doctor at all, they wouldn't be able to get any remedies. This could really turn bad. Already Mike was quite far in with the symptoms, he hadn't brought it up to them when he first started feeling sick, the bastard. He probably didn't want to worry them, but he knew he had to tell them first up so they could catch it early before it turned into something that they could no longer control. 

"..Paul! Please go tend to the plants, they need waterin' as it hasn't rained much lately." Jim's warm hand on his shoulder brought Paul back to reality with a jolt, and he glanced up into his father's face, which now had a small, but controlled smile, expression giving nothing away as he guided his eldest son to the backyard.

"D...Da'?" Paul broke the tense silence that hung in the air, the two having stood there for a few moments, knowing what was coming. 

"Yes, Paul?" Jim spoke eventually with a half-sigh.

"Will.. will Mike be okay?" Paul turned to face his father, fingers tugging on the end of his sleeves again. 

"He will be. We'll sort this, alrigh'? We'll be fine. Jus'.. focus on yer work for now, please."

And with that, Jim made his way back inside, leaving Paul outside, standing there as anxiety bubbled up in his throat again, threatening to take a hold of his brain as thoughts ran wild in his mind, but he did his best to shove them into the back of his mind like always. The doe-eyed boy decided to distract himself with watering and tending to the plants, so he did so, listening to the distant chirps of birds, watching the bees buzz lazily around the wildflowers and butterflies occasionally drifting past him. It was one of his favourite times of the year, the brink of spring. The sun hung high in the sky, due to it only being mid morning, and a light smatter of clouds accompanied it, along with a cool breeze. 

As he leant down to tend to an uprooted plant, presumably by a bird, something slipped out of his trouser pocket and thudded against his bare foot. Glancing downwards at it with surprise, he picked it up and studied it. It was a small circular thing wrapped up in paper with string, and he furrowed his brows, shaky fingers untying it and opening up the paper.   
It was.. another lemon tart. And on the inside of the paper, there was a messy drawing of an old man with a large nose and hairy nostrils, a goofy expression on his face. Below it there was jagged writing signed; _j.w.l._

He had a suspecting feeling of who had exactly done this, and he felt his heart pick up slightly, small smile creeping up his face as he gently folded up the paper and slipped it into his pocket. He must have slipped it in his pocket at the party, as Paul was the same trousers he was wearing that night, not having any other pairs at the moment to wear. It was quite comforting, actually, especially in this time, and he was beginning to grow fond of the tarts that John was leaving for him. He kind of hoped that John would make this a regular thing, but he wouldn't let him know that, of course. He was supposed to dislike him, but it was growing harder and harder to do so. The prince made him so confused as of lately, and he hated being around him, his feelings going crazy and changing constantly, and he practically melted into a puddle of goo every time he was near him. He tried not to think about that, though, and moved back inside to give the tart to his brother. 

✧✧✧✧✧

"Come'ead, out with ya." George gave a half-hearted kick to the guy lying passed out in his yard. With a groan, the man had awoken from his five thousand year slumber and stumbled to his feet, before dragging himself out of the yard and down the street, away from them. The lanky boy and Ringo were kicking out the remaining stragglers from last night's party, and cleaning up the vomit, rubbish, broken oil lamps (and other household items) and... _interesting_stains on the floor and walls. Once they had done so, the two had collapsed on the single couch with a sigh, Ringo burying his head in his knees. They both had horrible hangovers and couldn't remember much from last night.

"Tha' was so drainin', fuck.. my head's still poundin'." Ringo huffed dramatically before dragging himself to the kitchen to get some water.

"Yeah.. wait, fuck!" 

"Wha'?" Ringo mumbled from the kitchen. "Forget to wash the sheets or summat?" 

"No, I meant... where th' hell is Paul? We 'aven't seen 'im since last nigh'... all I remember is seeing 'im at the hide an' seek party an' tha's it." George stood up, making his way to where Ringo was, chugging water by the gallon. They had seen John out earlier in the day, waking him up from being passed out on the porch, and he had hurried home quickly with a slew of curse words, hissing; "fuck, Mimi's gonna 'ave me head.."

"Oh, yeah.. we should check on 'im." Ringo sighed after a moment, and they turned and made their way out of the house, down the street and to Paul's house, which they were glad that it wasn't far off as they couldn't really be bothered walking very far. Once they arrived, they knocked on the door and after a few moments Jim opened the door. Immediately, George could tell something was wrong, due to how Jim was acting, his entire physique tense and controlled, and he could tell that he was hiding something. George was a surprisingly perceptive person and could always tell when something was wrong with people.

"Ah, hello, George, Ringo. Here ta see Paul? He's out back, come'ead." The man led the two through the house, ushering them quickly past the bedroom where George caught a glimpse of Mike lying on the mattress looking sickly, and he then realised what was happening. _Oh fuck, that ain't good.._

"Hey, Paulie!" George called out with a lopsided smile, Ringo giving a wave as they made their way to where Paul was tending to the sprouting plants.

"Oh.. hi Georgie, Rings." Their friend glanced up from his spot and stood up, stuffing his hands in his pockets, expression tense and worried. There was definitely something wrong then, George realised, and him and Ringo exchanged a knowing glance before they went to stand in front of Paul.

"How you doin', mate? Everything alright?" George raised a bushy eyebrow. Paul could tell that George had noticed what was occurring in the McCartney family, and he could do nothing but sigh and sink to the ground, rubbing his face with his hands before he leaned on them. 

"I... I might as well be frank. Not really.." Paul spoke eventually.

"What's up, Paulie? Ye can tell us." Ringo wrapped a comforting arm around his best friends shoulder as they sat down beside him, concern for their friend evident on their faces. 

"Well.. Mike's sick." Paul pulled out something from his pocket, a piece of folded paper, and fiddled with it while he gazed at his lap. "An'... he's already been sick for about five days. We're worried, but... everything's gonna be fine." Paul shrugged slightly, but his expression told otherwise. "I hope."

"Oh, fuck, seriously?" George's eyes widened in shock. Mike was sick! What would that mean?? Surely... not anything too horrible. "I..'m so sorry, mate, honestly." 

"Yeah.. same here. Have ye gotten a doctor yet?" Ringo inquired worryingly. 

"Uh.. no. We don't have enough savings right now. But we're savin' up, 'm gonna have ta work hard this week an' the next until we 'ave enough. Migh'... have ta do some side jobs or possible beggin' if it comes to it." The boy traced circles on the piece of paper and George stared at it, but he couldn't see if there was anything on it as it was folded up. He wondered what it was.

"Fuck..'m sorry Paul. I promise.. I'll do all I can, alrigh'? I can donate some quid to help save up, an' I'll give more food than I usually do- some chicken soup is good fer colds, I think-" Ringo rambled slightly. Due to him being middle-class, unlike George and Paul, he could help them out a lot more and often donated them discounted food and money when things were tight for his friends. He wasn't allowed to do much, though, as most of their product was sold and there wasn't much leftovers and he technically wasn't meant to be associating with them, so it would be suspicious if he tried to give more than 5 quid a week. 

"Thank ye, Rings. We really, really appreciate yer help honestly. I don't wanna mooch too much off o' ya, though , so only give what's necessary, we'll be fine. Yer a good friend." Paul pulled Ringo into a tight hug, squeezing him tight then pulling away with a grateful grin, before he then hugged George too. "You too, Geo." 

As they changed the subject to something different, George suddenly got an idea. It could help build some bridges.. hit two birds with one stone. He didn't want to make it seem like it was his idea, though, it had to be John's alone, or else Paul (and John, frankly ) will slaughter him for trying to make them become friends. Just needed to figure out how to make it happen.. 

✧✧✧✧✧

"'Ello, Cyn! Welcome back."   
John held out an arm as his fiancé made her way out of the carriage, struggling not to trip and fall due to her overly long and puffy dress. After linking it with her own, the two made their way back inside the manor, catching up on some things since they last saw each other. The blonde haired girl was now going to stay at the manor for a few months, preparing for the wedding and such and getting the two used to living together, as Cynthia was going to move into the manor as soon as the wedding was completed, pretty much. John didn't know if he was looking forward to it, but he kept that to himself. 

"So, let's enjoy some time in the study, huh?" Cynthia flashed a smile to the unenthusiastic prince. He faked a smile back and nodded as the two made their way through the manor, but being greeted halfway by Mimi hurrying over.

"Oh, greetings, Miss Powell, John. I hope you enjoy your stay for the next few months, we are so delighted to have you here!" Mimi smiled ever so slightly as the two women curtsied to each other. John could see that Mimi was over her head with excitement at the prospect of her nephew finally getting married and taking responsibility as King, and it kind of unsettled the 18 year old. It reminded him of his impending doom.

"It's such an honour to be here, your Majesty." Cynthia bowed slightly again with a small smile. "I hope to be no bother."

"Oh, you could never, Miss Powell! We are glad you are here. I am also here to inform you lunch will be ready soon, and Mr Epstein will escort you when it is time." The woman then trotted away to her own room with one last polite smile; John gave out a sigh and opened the door to the study, immediately going for the couch and flopping onto it. 

"John.." Cynthia sat down beside her fiancé, lacing her fingers with his as she gazed down at him. "What's wrong?" She had noticed he was being incredibly distant and cold-shouldered, unlike the last time they had been together over a month ago.

“Nothin’, love.” John’s voice was stiff as he rolled over, back now facing the older woman as he pulled his hand away from her own. Cynthia drew back slightly, shocked as she felt her heart sink. No.. this can’t happen this early into the relationship. She pushed the thought away and rested a hand on his side.

“Are you sure? I know you, John, I can see there’s something troubling you.. please tell me. There’s no judging on my end, I promise.” She watched his torso rising and falling with each breath, but there was no movement or sound from the man for a few seconds until he huffed irritatedly and sat up, not looking at Cynthia. She could feel the anger and frustration radiating off of him and she drew her hand back to her lap in apprehension.

“I said nothin’, Cyn. Will ye jus’ drop it?” 

“I know it isn’t nothing, though. John-“

“Cynthia, just stop!” John cut her off as he threw his arms up in irritation, glare prominent on his face as he stood up, moving away from his fiancé. “Stop fuckin’ botherin’ me. If I wanna tell ya, I woulda! But I don’t.” He crossed his arms and tapped his foot on the ground anxiously. She could see he was in a bad mood, but she just wished he would open up to her, wanting to solve whatever problem he was facing, so she persisted a bit more. 

“I’m just concerned for you! I’m-“

“Well fuck off! Don’t need yer fuckin’ babying, leave me alone!” His voice raised considerably as his learned Liverpool accent grew prominent as he glared furiously at Cynthia, who drew back in slight fear as she realised what a mistake she had made. “Going to me room, don’t bother me.” He stormed off out the room and slammed the door loudly, followed by a deafening silence as Cynthia sat there, staring at the floor. 

It was then, she knew, something broke in their relationship. It wasn’t what it used to be anymore, and probably would never come back to that point ever again. Wanting so desperately to change that, though. She sighed shakily and stood up, moving to the couch further in the corner and picking up a nearby book, beginning to read to try and take her mind off what had just happened. 

Back in John’s room, the man in question had curled up in a ball on his bed, muscles tense as he muttered curse words under his breath, irritation and anger still coursing through him at high speed. He knew he shouldn’t have snapped at his soon to be wife, but he couldn’t help it. She wouldn’t stop persisting. He didn’t want to talk about it, and that was final!   
The reason as to why he was so irritated was because of Paul. Not something he could exactly talk to Cynthia about. The boy had been plaguing his mind the last few weeks, and the party last night increased it by five times, as he had interacted with him more and actually touched him. His fingers and thighs tingled at the memory of brushing up against the boy, accidentally touching his arm or his back. God, fuck...   
All he could see when he closed his eyes was those plump, cherry-red lips, just waiting to be captured in his own. Those dark, perfectly arched brows, button nose that always had a slight red tint to the tip, and those droopy, kaleidoscope doe-eyes gazing up at him through elongated eyelashes. They always held a sinful look in them, masked by a faux innocence, as if Paul knew nothing of what he was doing to John, but simultaneously knowing exactly what was occurring. Slender fingers that John longed to touch and see what they could do.. he was beginning to grow a full out crush on this beautiful boy, and there was nothing he could do about it. The boy was as straight as a fucking line, of course. Much unlike John. He had already had experience with men, Stuart and Brian. Stuart was the first man he had had a proper crush on, and was the only one for a while before he met Paul. Brian was just a quick fuck, when John was most desperate and alone, the period of time after Stuart had left him for Astrid and he hadn’t met Paul yet. He had had a fleeting attraction to Ringo at some point, but it never amounted to anything. He had liked women too, though, so he thought possibly he liked both? As for Paul.. he probably had minus 400 experience with a man romantically. Probably would never want to. He could always coerce George into giving him information, but he was scared of what his younger friend would tell him, because he knew what he was going to hear.   
But those fucking eyes, the way he moved, the way he looked at John that night at George’s 16th birthday party... he couldn’t have been straight. God fuck, he could almost feel the sensation again of Paul’s eyes burning into his neck, his hot breath billowing onto it.

“Oh, shit..” John muttered as he looked down at himself. He...had just gotten a fucking _stiffy_over a straight guy, and it pushed uncomfortably against his trousers. Goddamnit. He stood up and grabbed a nearby jacket to cover himself as he made his way out his room and darted to the bathroom to have a bath. He could.. _take care_ of some things there. 

Before he could make it there, though, a hand landed on his shoulder, and there Brian was, looking formal as always. 

“Mr Lennon? A letter to you from a Mr Harrison.” 

“Thanks, Eppy..” John took it and turned away to open it, the waiter then walking off, without correcting the nickname, surprisingly.   
Preparing himself for horrible writing, the prince opened it up and read;

_MEET TOMOOROW AT YURS ELEVON AY EM OK SEE YU THEN FROM GORGE_

_I wonder what’s happened now._

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii hope y’all enjoyed this chap!! ahh i’ve been sick (lol got the coronavirus heheehheeh jk pls stay safe y’all wash ur hands) so sorry for a lil delay . anyways enjoy this chap don’t have much to say but stay tuned for the next one !!! see y’all later <333


	18. seventeen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AHH HI GUYS OMFG pls listen to sanctuary by joji while u read this, it fits the chap so well!!

march 1859

Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt before slipping off his tie, the soon-to-be-king-of-Liverpool made his way down the stairs and to the front doors of the manor. He was about to slip away and visit Paul, as he had met up with George earlier that day, and the younger boy had mentioned something that caused John to worry. Something about Paul's family going through a rough patch at the moment and not having the funds for it...   
He genuinely wanted to help. He felt like, maybe, just maybe - the two were breaking the ice a bit, and they might be becoming friends. The prince, unlike what most people might think, had a heart, and he felt like he was beginning to grow really fond of the working class, raven-haired boy. It was a bad sign, John knew what the implications meant, what it could mean for their budding friendship and the future. He hoped it wouldn't last long, though; he hadn't planned on being attracted to Paul, the _'straightest guy to ever exist'_ (according to George) and all he could hope for is .. falling out of it? 

With a deep breath, John gripped onto the door handle, about to slip through one of the large doors discreetly, but there was a familiar stern voice that called out to him from the other end of the manor's front area. 

"John Winston Lennon! Where do you think you're going?" Mimi placed her hands on her hips, giving a piercing look to her nephew as she strode over. _Oh fuck._ John gulped slightly and shoved his hands in his pocket, turning around as slowly as possible with a sheepish, innocent smile. "Cynthia's all alone in the study room, you cannot leave her there like this! It's very rude and ungentlemanly." 

"I know, Mimi, but-" He started, trying to plead with the woman, knowing that it wouldn't work whatsoever. 

"No buts! Go spend some time with your fiance, she's your soon to be wife." Mimi pinched his arm tightly, gesturing to the study with a firm stare, John hissing out an _'ow'_ at the impossibly tight grip she had on his forearm (how is it that mothers know the exact right places to pinch a nerve and cause the worst pain ever?) and pulling it away, before being manoeuvred towards the study until he was standing in front of the door. 

Once he was there, Mimi let go of him and stepped away. There was tense silence between them for a few moments until she turned on her heel and walked away, the sound of her shoes clashing against the tiles being all that John heard until she disappeared up the stairs into another room. Anxiety bubbled up in John's throat and he tried to calm his breath as he raised a fist and gently knocked on the door.

"..Cyn? You there?" 

Dead silence greeted him for a few moments. It felt as if the seconds were ticking by ever so slowly, the spaces between each second growing longer and longer, dread rising in his stomach and throat closing up, breath growing shorter until it felt as if years were passing by until there was a noise. 

"Come in." Was what John heard. Cynthia's voice just above a hoarse whisper, and a sniffle accompanied it. _Fuck._ His heart sunk. He was such a shitty fiance.. she'd been crying because of him for fuck's sake! He loved her. He shouldn't be treating her like this! He determinedly opened the door, deciding on something then and there. _I'm gonna do my best to make it up to her, and treat her better than I have been lately._

There Cynthia was, sitting on the couch, body draped across the arm, head lying on top of her forearms. Her long, deep green dress pooling at her feet, long cherubic blonde hair falling in perfect locks down her shoulders and spread out all around her. There was a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of her, but it had turned cold due to being left untouched; as John had made his way into the room, the woman sat up and sniffled again, wiping her obviously reddened eyes, the end of her nose tinted red and her lips chapped from sinking her teeth into them. 

"Hello, John." Her voice was slightly hoarse and she refused to look at him, staring at the untouched cup of tea blankly and fiddling with a loose string on her evening dress, avoiding his guilty gaze. 

"Cyn.." John spoke eventually, his voice soft as he slowly approached her, moving to sit down -somewhat near her, but not close enough to spook his fiance, before he spoke again. "I- I want ta say.. that I am so sorry. I know tha' doesn't cut it, but please, hear me out-" He let out a shaky breath as he reached to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, tentatively and slowly; "I truly didn't mean ta snap at ye, I-I dunno what was wrong with me." He chuckled humorlessly and ran a hand nervously through his unkempt hair. "I was jus'- keepin' my emotions in again, an' I burst- an' took it all out on ye. An' that's jus' not fair on ye." He noticed Cyn sniff again but her eyes flickered up to gaze at him, her body growing less tense as she gravitated towards him ever so slightly. "I really am sorry, ye don't deserve tha' at all.. I dunno why ye put up with me, anyroad. 'm just a bastard, really." He sighed, feeling guilt and hatred at himself for being a dick rise in his chest again, but he tried to shove them further down. _Not right now._

"John.." Cynthia spoke softly. She turned to face him, a gentle expression on her face, as if she was handling a tiny newborn puppy, avoiding eggshells as she reached to lace her fingers with his. "I know." She always knew.

"I know ye know, jus'-" He cut himself off with a sigh. "How can I make it up to ye? I'll do anythin'." 

"You don't have to do much, John.." The hazel-eyed girl shrugged slightly, a hand crawling up his arm as she looked up at him through her lashes. Affection and love were shining in her eyes, clear as day as a small smile graced her lips. "Just.. love me." His heart immediately dropped, and he felt a sweat break out on his forehead, heartbeat quickening fast. _Fuck. She doesn't know that I've been falling for someone else as of late..._

Anxiety was consuming him again, and he clutched at his knee with extreme tightness, knuckles turning stark white as his throat closed up, thoughts bombarding him, swamping his mind and choking him with horrible strength as usual. The thought of falling out of love with his _fiance,_ of all people was absolutely terrifying! _How the hell am I gonna get through this?_ His breath grew faster, and he could vaguely hear Cyn calling his name, her gentle touch wrapping around his back as she tried to comfort her fiance. 

_I'm a horrible person. I'm so terrible. I'm falling for a working-class male, of all things to fall for, and leaving behind my fiance, who I should very much love more than I do.. Mimi's going to banish me, I'll never be king (not that I wanted to in the first place) I'll be hung for sodomy. Sodomy is very much illegal. I'm a disgusting fucking pervert, a faggot, shirt-lifter.. Paul's gonna hate me forever, I'm gonna lose my friends-_

"John! John! Please, deep breaths for me, okay? Calm yourself, ground yourself..." Cynthia was shaking him. The words were finally getting through to him, and he began to take deeper and deeper breaths, struggling to calm down. All he could think was; _I need to get out of here._

And with that, he leapt up from being on the floor and bolted right out of there, straight for the front doors and bursting through them, ignoring any call of his name from Mimi or Cyn as he continued to just sprint. Run, run, run.. for god knows how long. He just ran and ran, and before he knew it he fell to his knees in a forest. And he was absolutely soaked. It had been raining? He hadn't even noticed... it was unusual, as it was now spring - it shouldn't be raining. It was still bucketing down, in fact, and there was a boom of thunder accompanying it.   
Breath shallow due to having sprinted for like 10 minutes straight, he slowly stood up, leaning against a tree as he attempted to catch his breath. It.. he was in the forest next to Paul's house. He wondered how he got here, his brain must have taken him here.. _I'm not surprised. John huffed and sunk to the ground, not even noticing the rain continuing to bucket down onto him, skin numb from any feeling._

As he sat there, he glanced to his left and saw a dip in the grass next to him. With further inspection, he saw he dip went underneath a giant tree, and exposing its roots. The tree drooped low above it and shielded the spot from most of the rain with large, long, snaking leaves, the gap large enough to fit his entire head in there. The grass was long and covered up most of the large dip, which was the perfect fit for a body. As he crawled towards it and slipped into the dip with a sigh (it was surprisingly super comfortable), he noticed something shoved underneath the roots of the tree. It was a small wooden box with a rusting key lock on it, and he reached and pulled it out. He had realised that water was pooling all around it, having dripped from the top of the tree down to the roots, soaking the wood and possibly going to rot it. He held the thing in his hands and shook it slightly, before it made a rattling noise. There were things inside it! 

_(begin song here)_

"Oi! Get away from there!" A familiar voice cut through his thoughts, and he jumped, not expecting anyone to be there. Whipping around, he saw him - Paul. The boy was coming over fast with an angry expression, but it disappeared quickly upon seeing John there, footsteps slowing until he was standing over the older boy, looking just.. confused. "John?"

"Uh.. hi." John spoke eventually, involuntarily shivering as he realised how cold he was.

"Jesus, wha' are ye doin'? Ye'll catch yer death!" Paul fussed as he grabbed the prince's wrist and pulled him up, taking off his coat and throwing it over John and ushering him inside. The auburn-haired boy was still holding onto the box, and Paul took it from his grasp, inspecting it worriedly but calming when he saw it wasn't very damaged. 

"Sorry, I found tha' under th' tree, it was gettin' wet so I grabbed it-"

"It's okay, really. Thanks." They reached the house, and went around to the back to enter through the window. "Tha's why I went out there, to find it.." Paul trailed off, mostly talking to himself. John pulled Paul's coat tighter around himself (not without taking a sniff, the comforting smell of tobacco, vanilla and honey wafting around him) as he shivered. "Come'ead, through th' window." Paul opened it and deftly jumped up, squeezing through it and landing on the other side. He glanced around before going back to the window, holding out a hand. "Coast is clear." 

"Paul, what if we get caught-"

"We won't." Paul gave him a serious stare, holding his hand out further. John could feel the atmosphere change between them there. Something had changed between them.. the ice had been broken, and they were both about to plummet into the depths of the sea. And John was fucking ready for it. Heart racing with now excitement, John gripped onto Paul's hand and pulled himself through, landing (less gracefully than Paul) on the hard stone floor; the room was empty, not a sound to be heard except for themselves.

Peeling off the thin coat, John handed it to Paul, who took it and dumped it on his mattress, not looking at John before going over to his wardrobe and rummaging through it.

"Ya need ta get outta those clothes fast, John- here, I have some..." He spoke with his back turned to the prince as he continued to rummage through the clothes, picking out some plain trousers and a cotton button up, and a pair of undies.

"Ye sure I'll fit?" John's voice was quiet and he fiddled with his soaked sleeve nervously. _I'm gonna wear Paul's clothes..._

"Yeah, 'm around yer size. Might be a tad small.." Paul turned around, finally making eye contact as he handed over the clothes with the slightest of smiles. "But they're good enough." John took them, feeling the hairs on his arm stand up as his fingertip's brushed against Paul's own, and he shivered, not because of the cold. God, I fucking hope George is wrong about Paul being straight.

"Thanks.. really. 'm surprised ye let me in at all." John chuckled as he started to unbutton his vest. At seeing that, Paul's cheeks flushed a deep red, eyes wide before he whipped around to face the wall so he wouldn't look weird watching the prince undress. 

"Y-yeah... yeah. I dunno. I think.. I had th' wrong opinion of ye." The younger's voice grew quieter and quieter as he said that, and John glanced up to look at him in surprise, mid peeling his soaked shirt off. Paul was growing to like him? _Wow. Didn't expect that._

"..Oh." John fell silent. "Really?"

"Yeah, I guess." Paul half-glanced behind him, but quickly turned back around with an even deeper blush when he spotted John shirtless. John couldn't help but smirk at that as he pulled on Paul's shirt, buttoning it up. After finishing changing, John finally spoke up.

"You can turn around now." 

The raven-haired boy did as told, his cheeks a deep pink as he picked up John's soaked clothes, refusing to make eye contact with the older as he put the clothes in the corner. There was a tense silence that hung between them, the air so thick and heavy that he felt as if he was choking, and John felt awkward standing there, in Paul's room, in Paul's clothes, while Paul stands there across the room staring at him. He felt his heartbeat pick up, feeling as if he was completely vulnerable, as if he was just straight up naked in front of the younger, on display like a chocolate in a stall. Not that he wasn't enjoying it..

"You.. ye migh' wanna stay here fer a bit. 'Til th' storm blows over, y'know." Paul spoke eventually. 

"Yeah. Good idea." John nodded before faking a smile, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the intense fidgeting he was doing to calm himself. Leaning against the wall, the auburn-haired boy slid to the floor with a sigh, curling in on himself a bit. He ached for a smoke, but he didn't want to ask Paul for one, he felt he would be too intrusive if he asked for one.   
After a few seconds, John glanced up to look at Paul, who was now making his way over to him, sliding down to the floor next to the prince with a sigh.   
He could see it, in Paul's body language - that something was wrong. His muscles were tense and his expression worried as John studied him, and he reached to gently touch Paul's shoulder.

"Hey, uh..." John started, catching his new friend's attention, who glanced towards him, expression unreadable. "Are ye ok? I..." He trailed off again. "You seem worried."

"Well, uh.." Paul fiddled with the end of his trousers anxiously. "Mike's sick." John's heart sunk. That's what it was. The prince knew what that meant.

"Shit.. really? Fuck, I'm-'m sorry." John watched him worriedly. An idea was forming in his head, though; a way he could help Paul out. 

"It's okay. We're... managin' I guess?" The younger shrugged slightly, crossing his arms and leaning them on his knees with another despondent sigh. "We'll be fine. We will be."   
As Paul was talking, the older got up, hurrying over to his soaked clothes and rummaging through the pockets. _C'mon, c'mon, please have it.._

"John? What're ye doin'?"

"Here." John nicked the slightly wet wad of notes and a few shillings from his trouser pocket and came back over to Paul, grabbing the raven-haired boy's hand and gently placing the money into it. "Please, take it. I don't have a use fer it, ye need it. Take it an' use it." 

"J...John? What th' hell, ye can't jus' gimme money-" Paul stared at the (quite large) amount of money placed in his hand with bug-eyes, before attempting to put it back in John's grasp.

"No- I can. That's th' thing." John stared at him earnestly, reaching and closing Paul's fingers over the wad of cash with his own hand, feeling electricity shooting up his arm and his hairs standing up at the touch, but he tried to hide his blush at the feeling, focussing on just Paul for no. "You guys need it way more than I do, trust me. Please.. jus' take it, help yerselves ou'."

There was a silence between them. Confused hazel-green eyes staring into gentle almond ones, a silent conversation happening between them within a matter of seconds. John telling him that it was _okay,_ it was okay to accept things from people - and that John didn't mind. He was willing to give this money to him, Paul deserved it. _Mike_ deserved it. Trying as best as he could to get those words across without having to say anything. Then, Paul nodded, and held the money close to his chest, their eyes not breaking contact at all. _It worked._

Suddenly, there were arms wrapping around him, pulling him flush against Paul's chest as the younger hugged him as tightly as humanly possible. He sat there for a second in absolute shock, not knowing what the hell to do with his hands, before hugging the doe-eyed boy back with a small smile, burying his aquiline nose in the crook of his neck and sighing a little. After a few seconds, they pulled apart, Paul's eyes shining slightly with tears as a grin lit up the boy's entire face. It was a wonderful sight to see; his cheeks puffing up, eyes crinkling and flashing his teeth - just being himself, no mask. Just being Paul. Seeing it made John's heart race, and he swore he could have melted into a lovesick goo from seeing that blinding smile. 

"Thank you." Paul's eyelids fluttered as his grin faded to a shy smile, cheeks flushing as he gazed at his new friend. "For real."

"It's okay." John grinned back, feeling his heartbeat grow even quicker, palms sweaty as he realised their arms were still loosely wrapped around each other. Neither moved, though; they were too comfortable, sitting there - just the two of them. In that moment, the young prince realised something.

_God, I am so fucking whipped for this boy._

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAHH HI GUYS sorry sorry for the delay!! this was tough to get out but so worth it omfg im actually quite proud !! went a bit off course to what i was originally gonna write but yknow what this ones way better :')) anyhways omfg enjoy sorry for the delay again this shit getting gAAYY HEHEHEH also !! hope yall enjoyed the song aahh i think it suited this chap so well :')) joji is so fuckin cool omfg. ok now im done ranting aaah ill shut up bye <333 pls leave comments n things i rly appreciate them so so much !!<33 byee


	19. eighteen.

april 1859

"George! Oi, ye there?" A sable-haired boy slammed a fist on the door impatiently, other hand shoved in a trouser pocket, fiddling anxiously with a loose string, foot tapping nervously on the rotting wood of the porch. It looked like it was about to break then and there, poor Paulie falling right through and into the gross dirt below, but miraculously, it didn't.   
It had been about two days since John had paid a visit to the younger boy, and since then Paul had pretty much gone insane. The fiery-haired (it wasn't really orange, but the auburn locks flared a dark red in the sunlight, Paul had noted) prince hadn't left his mind, not for one minute. Every time he thought about him, butterflies would explode in his stomach and flutter in his chest, cheeks going red for no reason. Lying awake the past two night, thinking about how John felt in his arms.. the look they had given each other while John stood there in his own clothes for christ's sake. Everything reminded him of Lennon. He would see a fucking tree and think of seeing John there in his hideout spot. He had found his box too.. he was glad that he hadn't seen what was in it. It was special, private stuff. John knew where his hideout was now though.. he didn't know if he minded though. 

John had left late that night, once the storm had died down. It had been about 1am, and they had stayed up talking all night, about music, piano, books, and everything in between. Paul had watched him go with a weirdly heavy heart, so many emotions flying through him at that moment when he watched John's figure disappear into the darkness. It was so.. casual, fun and just really interesting. John was so interesting, so human. He didn't expect that in someone like him. The way he felt around him was so foreign, but really familiar at the same time. Scarily familiar. But he couldn't hold it in anymore, he had to get it out. And who else to turn to but his best friend, the food guzzler George Harrison.

Speaking of, the young boy flung open the door, clad in just lazily pulled on trousers and nothing else. He gazed down at Paul in dizzy, tired confusion, hair sticking up every which way. Paul noticed love bites scattering across his neck down his chest and he grimaced at the sight.

"Paul? Aye, what are ye doin' 'ere?" His voice was husky with sleep, and a face popped out from behind him. It was Ringo. He looked similar to George, dishevelled and tired, but there was a lazy smile on his face as he spotted Paul.

"Mornin', Paul." 

"I..." Paul fell silent. Did... were... George and Ringo...? "Uh."

"Oh. Ringo-" George turned to the older boy, more awake with sudden anxiety and shooed him back inside, suddenly self conscious of his bare chest as he realised they were both very much out in the open. "Fuck. Paul, get 'ere." He grabbed his best friend's wrist and dragged him inside, slamming the door behind him. "Shoulda put a shirt on. Ringo, I told ye ta stay in bed!" George glared at him, who shrugged sheepishly. He was wearing nothing but boxers and a half done up shirt. 

"Sorry, sorry. Wanted ta see who was at th' door!" Ringo held up his hands as they made their way to the kitchen.

"If it was anyone else they woulda bloody killed us righ' then an' there! Wha' if it was th' neighbours-" George continued to rant angrily, making angry gestures at his .. lover?

"Guys." Paul tried to interrupt, utterly dumbfounded, speechless, at the sight in front of him. George and Ringo are fucking. Oh my god. 

"Well it wasn't! So let's jus' forget about it-" 

"I can't jus' forget abou' it, Ringo! Wha'-"

"Guys!" Paul yelled, eyes bugging out of his head. Both of them fell silent and looked at their best friend, as if they forgot he was here. "Can someone.. please explain to me what THE HELL is going on??" Paul gestured wildly to them both with a shocked expression, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. 

Silence followed for a few moments, Ringo turning embarrassed and ducking his head to look at the floor, wriggling his toes slightly and staring at them. George just sighed and rubbed the back of his neck slightly, turning to look at Paul with a serious stare. 

"Ok well... Paul." He placed hands on the older boy's shoulders. "Don't freak out, but... me and Ringo are together. Romantically. Boyfriend and boyfriend. Lovers. Sweethearts. Dating-"

"I get it, I get it!" Paul shut him up with a nod. "Right. Well." Paul leaned against the counter, processing the large amount of information that he had just been given a few seconds ago, tapping incessantly on the wooden surface, catching his bottom lip in his teeth. He could feel the two's anxious gazes on him, and he knew that they were terrified of him rejecting them. "How long?" He looked up at them, wanting to reassure that it was okay with him. 

"Uh... four days or so." Ringo piped up, arm snaking around George's bare waist to rest a hand on his hip. George struggled to suppress a smile. 

"Oh. That's okay, really." He pushed off the counter with a warm smile at his friends. "It's okay with me. Yer both still George an' Ringo." He held out his arms and shortly after he was pulled into a tight group hug, George grinning up at him as they basically hugged the breath out of him. It was kind of weird, knowing his friends were now dating basically .. but he was okay with it. They were still people. 

"Thank ye so much, Paulie, really. Yer th' best friend a guy could have." Ringo grinned at him widely, slightly teary eyed as they all pulled out of the hug.

"Of course I am." Paul stuck out a hip and waved them off with a sassy grin. "But, why didn't ye tell me sooner?? Was I not trustworthy ta know this?" He leaned back against the counter with a smirk. "How'd ye guys get togeva'?" 

"Well, I dunno... it's hard ta tell people this stuff, y'know? Even if they are trustworthy people." George shrugged. "Wait a sec, 'm jus' gonna get a shirt-" He hurried away down the hallway to his room.

Paul nodded at the words, turning to Ringo, who was getting some water and chugging it with unnecessarily loud noises, causing the sable-haired boy to grimace, kicking the older boy in the shin, who protested and kicked him back playfully.

"Oh, and.." Ringo put down his cup. "George 'ad come to me 'ouse late at nigh', like at me window. I was all confused as ta why 'e was there, but 'e said nuffin' an' jus' kissed me." A grin spread across his face. "It was bloody bonkers, I never thought 'e'd like me back."

"Wha' about Pattie?" Paul's brows furrowed as he remembered the blonde girl from the party. 

"'e broke up with 'er tha' very same day. She was really upset, bu' not mad. Confused, felt like it was 'er fault an' she wasn't good enough. Felt really 'orrible fer 'er, really. Sweet gal." Ringo nodded sadly as he took another sip of water. George came back at that moment, a button up on now, covering the things Paul didn't really want to see in the first place, the lanky boy hugging Ringo from behind, burying his grin in his lover's shoulder. Ringo grinned and pressed a kiss to George's mop of hair, and Paul couldn't help but smile too. They were bloody cute together. 

I want that. Paul thought to himself. 

"Yeah, feel bad fer 'er too. I always thought somethin' was going on between ye two anyroad. The way ye guys acted 'round each other, I knew somethin' was up. An' not jus' recently, I mean fer ages ye both were pinin'!" Paul threw his hands up incredulously. "Surprised it didn't happen earlier." 

"Same here, mate. Honestly, we were jus' dumb!" George giggled as he leaned his head on Ringo's shoulder, gazing up at him with a grin. Ringo grinned back at him and they connected lips, the older wrapping his arms around the younger tenderly.

"Oi, get a room, bastards! 'm still 'ere!" Paul playfully glared at them as he flicked a bit of fluff towards the couple, smirking slightly. The azure-eyed man pulled away with a sigh, then looked out the window behind Paul. 

"Fuck! 'm meant ta see John today, 'e's been pesterin' me fer ages! See ya babe." He pressed one last kiss to George's lips, the two exchanging lovesick smiles before he went and hugged Paul, pressing a wet kiss to his best friend's cheek with a grin. "See ya, Princess Paulie!" He called before dashing into the bedroom to fetch pants, coming back a few moments doing them up and dashing out of the house with a wave. 

"Fuck off, wanker!" Paul wiped the saliva off of his cheek and threw a stray crumpled piece of paper at the older boy, missing unfortunately as it didn't go very far. 

"Nice throw, mate." George guffawed.

"Shut up, grot bastard." Paul rolled his eyes at him before sassily strutting to the lounge room and throwing himself on the tattered couch. "Ye couldn't throw any better if ye bloody tried."

"Try me." George grinned before plonking onto the floor in front of the couch, gazing up at his friend as he rested his chin in his hands. "So."

"So." Paul repeated, turning to look at his best friend. 

"Why'd ye come 'ere so early, huh? What's up in th' world of Princess Paulie?" The younger tilted his head curiously, raising an eyebrow.   
Oh right. That. Paul sighed softly, and he swore he could see John's almond eyes staring down at him from the ceiling, expression kind like they were when he put the money into his hand, closing his fingers around it with his own. 

"Well.." He then explained everything that had happened that night. From going out to save his special box from the rain to how he felt when he watched John go.

"Well, tha's a bloody lot ta take in." George spoke eventually, letting out an incredulous chuckle before running a hand through his unkempt hair. "So... I think ye might like John. Like, 'ave a crush on 'im." He stood up and placed his hands on hips, knowing exactly what was coming next- 

"No! No way-" Paul sat up, gazing at George in shock and anger that he would even suggest something like that! How dare he! "I could never be like tha'! I like girls! Not tha' there's anythin' wrong with likin' guys-" He fumbled slightly, cheeks warming, but he stood up, running a worried hand through his hair as he began to pace. "I could jus' never like guys. I never 'ave. An' 'm certainly not startin' now, with someone like 'im!" He made crazy gestures as he began to ramble, continuously running a hand through his hair and messing it up worse and worse as he went, pacing frantically back and forth. George could see he was going to work himself up into a state, and he got ready to jump in when Paul got too anxiety-ridden to function properly. "I like girls, an' girls alone. I like tits, vag an' arse. G-girl arse! Girl arse, may I remind ye!" He pointed to George with a furious glare, the younger sporting a small smirk and having been about to say something. "I knew wha' ye were gonna say, 'arrison, an' don' ye bloody start now!" He hissed, pressing fingers harshly into the sides of his temple angrily. "Fuck... 'm doin' me own 'ead in! I like girls. I like girls." He crossed his arms as he continued to pace, trying to affirm to himself that he did, in fact, like girls. 

"Paul.." George started, getting more and more worried as time went on.

"I like girls! Tha's all there is to it! That's all there is to it... I only like girls." Paul didn't respond (probably not having heard him), instead still chanting to himself frantically. "I could never like boys.. I would be kicked out. I-I don't like men, that's sodomy! I don't... I don't-" 

"Paul! Paul!" George hurried over and grabbed onto Paul's shoulders, spinning the frantic boy around to face the younger, eyebrows raised. "Paul, calm down. Deep breaths, okay?" He guided the boy gently to the couch, sitting him down and kneeling onto the stone floor. "It's okay, Paul.. just calm yourself." Eventually, Paul had calmed himself down, knees pulled up to his body and head buried in them, arms wrapped around his legs, back rising and falling slowly. 

"I'll be back in just a sec, alrigh' Paul? Jus' gettin' some water fer ye, okay?" George's places a hand on his best friend's knee, gazing at him earnestly, and Paul murmured consent, George standing up and hurrying to get water, coming back a few seconds later and handing it to the doe-eyed boy. He drank it quickly, letting out a sigh once done and wiping his mouth. His eyes were filled with tears and his bottom lip trembled slightly, refusing to look at his best friend before he buried his face in his knees again. 

"Paul.. 'm sorry. I really am." The sharp-cheekboned boy sighed, slowly sitting down on the floor in front of Paul. 

There was dead silence in the house except for the older boy's erratic gasping breaths, back shaking up and down irregularly, and George realised then that he was crying. His heart ached horribly for his best friend, knowing exactly how he was feeling; he pulled him straight into a hug, Paul stiff at first but melting into the touch, burying his head into the lanky boy's shoulder. 

"Paul.." George sighed. 

"I can't-can't deal with this, George. It's too mm-much. I hate this feelin' so much... I-I feel so bloody helpless, as if 'm watchin' me life fall a-a-apart from th' sidelines. I.. I don't know wha' ta do. 'm.. 'm seriously at a loss." Paul sniffed and wiped his eyes, pulling away to look George in the eye. 

"I know." George spoke eventually. "Trust me... I know th' feeling well. I went through tha' all by meself. It's such a horrible feelin'... ye feel like yer so disgustin' and 'orrible fer bein' gay an' knowin' tha' if ye ever, ever get caught yer gonna be slaughtered in fronta th' entire city an' yer own family." His voice was quiet and hoarse by the time he finished his sentence. "An'... yer probably destined ta be alone fer a long time." 

Paul let out a sob and buried his face in his hands. 

"But.. yer not alone Paul. Yer not. Ye have me, and Ringo. Probably Mike too." George wrapped an arm around his best friend's shoulders. "We are here ta get ye through anythin', we'll protect ye through everythin'. We love ye so much. An'.. Ye'll find someone. I know ye will. Ye won't be alone forever, that's fuckin' bullshit. There's always someone out there." He lifted Paul's head by his chin, locking eyes and raising his eyebrows with a warm smile. The boy sniffed again, staring up at his best friend with almost childlike wonder, taking in everything George was saying. 

"Ye will find someone. Yer amazin', Paulie. Anyone would be lucky ta have ye." 

Eventually, a large grin spread across Paul's face, cheeks puffing up and eyes crinkling with happiness, a giggle escaping from his lips. 

"I highly doubt tha', but thank ye, Geo. Really... thank ye. Yer my best friend, yer th' bloody best too. Dunno how I managed ta come across such an awesome friend. I love ya." He pulled the lanky boy into a tight hug, giving one last squeeze before they both sat there on the couch, Paul's head resting on George's shoulders, George's on top of Paul's head. 

"Love ye too." 

They were both thinking of the same person at George's previous words. 

A certain John Lennon. 

✧✧✧✧✧

"'m goin' outta me fookin' mind, Rings!" 

Speaking of, that same John Lennon was pacing up and down his room, clawing at his hair and pulling it out of its perfectly-styled place. 

"I can see tha'." Ringo raised an eyebrow as he watched his best friend. He was splayed out comfortably on John's massive bed, head buried between an unnecessary amount of pillows. 

Ringo had come to John's place straight from George's, and the prince had questioned him on the obvious hickeys on his neck and his overall dishevelled look; he told him about his night with George, of course - John knew about them being together already because Ringo fangirled about it to him for hours the day after him and the dark-eyed boy got together. They always told each other everything.

"I jus'- man I like 'im so goddamn much!" John groaned and flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. "'m so fuckin' whipped, mate." 

Ringo chucked mischievously, poking him incessantly in the cheek.   
"Awwww, John's soft fer McCartney!" 

Pack it, will ye?" The auburn-haired boy shoved his older friend's hand away with a grin. "But..." He huffed again, smile fading. "'e's th' straightest guy in existence, so.." He slipped a crumpled paper from his pocket and threw it in the air repeatedly, catching it each time. "Lucky me."

"I wouldn't be so sure.." Ringo hummed, expression turning serious as the thought to himself, the cogs turning in his head.

"What'd'ye mean?" John raised an eyebrow as he glanced towards his friend, not noticing the crumpled piece of paper that was thrown in midair and fell onto his chest. "There could be a chance??"

"Welllll..." A mischievous grin slowly made its way onto the shorter man's face before he glanced towards the prince. "I could find out fer ye." 

"Wha'? Ye serious? Yer gonna find out if Paul would be ... y'know ?" John sat up and grinned excitedly at his friend. 

"...Perhaps." He pressed a finger into his own cheek before looking back at the prince with a smirk. 

"Oh, aye! I owe ye, mate! Thanks so much, honestly!" John pulled him into a bear hug, Ringo shoving him away with a half-grin, half-grimace. 

"Watch th' back, mate! George was a little rowdy.." He hissed slightly and rubbed at his back. They both exchanged a glance before bursting into laugh, echoing loudly throughout the room before John shoved Ringo off the bed, who groaned in pain as he hit the carpeted floor. 

"Yer both fuckin' naff, mate! Don't want tha' kinda influence fer me!" John peeked over the edge of the bed with a devilish grin. 

"I'll influence ye, mate... influence yer fuckin' face into being bashed in!" Ringo laid there for a second before leaping up and pinning John down, both wrestling playfully and throwing pretend punches to each other's face. 

For the rest of the morning, they both just laid on the bed, John on the floor with his legs on top of the bed, Ringo splayed out and taking up every inch of space on it, and talked about everything and nothing. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo waddup gamers !! hope yall enjoyed this chapter, decided to give it out early HOPE U ENJOY DUDES i gave the chapter out earlier than usual :')) also omfg yall this has like almost 100 kudos, im so fuckin happy thank u all so much!! aahhh thank u   
guys fr it means sm to me :'))  
anyways enjoy this chap it   
was so fun to write !!! its now  
5:20am and i prolly should   
sleep omfg lmaoo ok now ima  
shut up bye bye ily all <333


	20. nineteen.

april 1859

"Oi, Macca!" 

"Macca, huh? Tha' yer nickname fer me?"   
The sable-haired boy, who was poised, teetering on the rickety fence, about to jump down to the other side and descend into the forest. As he heard a call from behind him, Paul whipped around and hopped back off of the fence, (if he had stayed on there any longer it probably would have crumbled beneath him) back the way he came. At the sight in front of him, John Lennon striding over, clad in a light blue collared shirt, dark blue vest, tie and trousers, sporting a large grin on his face. The only sign of rebellion being his untied shoes, undone vest and loosely hanging tie - the young boy couldn't help but let a smile grace his lips, and he ducked his head to look at the ground in case he embarrassed himself any further. 

He had tried so hard not to get attached to the prince, but ever since he gave him that money, sacrificed something to help someone else out... he found himself beginning to like him. He still didn't entirely trust him and wouldn't consider him as a friend just yet... but it was close.

So much for not liking the rich.. 

It just made him realise that not all rich people are the same. That there are some out there who have a heart and are willing to help out the less fortunate.  
John didn't ask to be born into wealth, he was actually a nice person and a decent guy; he hadn't let the fact he was the prince (almost king) of Liverpool get to his head. AND he was actually interesting too. They both really liked music and had the same taste in books and art and all sorts of things - maybe, if John hadn't been a prince and Paul wasn't such a stubborn bastard, they would have become friends years ago. 

At this point, their relationship was very delicate, Paul teetering on the edge of the cliff of friendship and John already at the bottom, waiting for that pivotal moment when Paul would take the leap and ready to catch him. It was all up to the younger to take the final step now.

"Yeah, ye like it? Or do ye prefer... princess?" The shit-eating grin grew wider as the older boy descended onto one knee, gazing up at Paul with one arm outstretched. "I could be th' prince to yer princess?" He tilted his head with raised brows, evil grin still ever present. 

Paul rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, but before he could reply, another voice cut in, and he glanced up in shock.

"Oi, lovebirds!" A gasp. "John, are ye proposin'? Oh my godness, it's happenin'! Ringo, hold me-" He had been so distracted by John he hadn't even noticed George and Ringo following behind him. George fell into Ringo's grasp with a fake sigh, the older boy fanning him frantically. "True love prevails.." 

"Shut th' fuck up." Paul crossed his arms tighter and gave grinning George a malicious glare, trying to stop his cheeks from flaming. 

"Geo, I think we should leave 'em alone ta their own devices.. we're interruptin' a very tender moment, doncha think?" Ringo snickered as he pretended to turn away and whisper secretly with his boyfriend, giving fake suspicious glances back to the pair, who hadn't moved an inch for almost a minute, just watching their friends make fun of them. 

Suddenly, John broke that by jumping up from his kneeling position, friendly whacking Paul on the back before guiding him away from the fence, the [fab] four beginning to walk across the field.

"Oh, I was jus' playin' 'round, eh, Macca?" He flashed another grin towards the doe-eyed boy, whose cheeks flared again, heart racing as he pulled his arms tighter around himself. Yeah. Just playing 'round.

He could feel Ringo's eyes trained on him and he glanced over to look at him, but immediately Ringo's eyes widened and he turned to pretend to listen to whatever George was babbling on about (the time where him, Ringo and John got hammered in a pub last year and pissed right there on the dance floor and got kicked out, actually - Paul wished that he hadn't been stubborn and had refused to come.) The sable-haired boy stared at the passing grass turning into road as they walked away from Paul's house and down the empty, abandoned street, lost in thought.

"Oi, Paul! How's Mike? Is 'e any better?" George piped up, the question directed at him pulling Paul from his thoughts. 

"Oh! Well..." He side-eyed John, trailing off before speaking again. "We got a good doctor fer him, he's given remedies an' things fer Mike to do, an' 'e's on 'is way ta gettin' better." There was a tiny smile from John Paul noticed out of the corner of his eye and he ducked his head, attempting to hide his smile too as they shared a shy glance. 

The other two boys were watching them intently and George let out a squeal, jumping up and down excitedly.

"Oh my god! John helped out, didn't he? An' ye guys are in love an' are gonna get married now! Can I be th' best man? Pleaaaseeeeee-" 

"Shurrup! Yer so annoyin' an' weirdly happy today, Geo!" Paul shoved his friend playfully, giving him a glare before crossing his arms comfortably again. 

"Yeah. Rings let ye hit it from th' back, huh?" John winked exaggeratedly with the biggest grin ever and Ringo punched him in the arm with a roll of his eyes and a glare. George and Paul dissolved into laughter until their stomachs hurt at the crude joke, leaning on each other for support and ignoring the looks from passersby. John glanced towards the tall raven-haired boy, grin softening when he watched Paul laugh, proper laugh, for the first time ever in front of him. And because of him. Ringo noticed this and nudged the prince with a small smile.

Paul noticed they had already arrived in the richer part of the city, and realised they were probably going to John's manor. I've only ever seen the front and the ballroom... I wonder what the rest is like. 

"Pack it, will ye, John? Christ!" The shorter boy huffed. 

"But anyways," George changed the subject after he calmed down. "Tha's really good, Paulie. 'm glad fer tha'." The three gave pats on the back to the doe-eyed boy, who smiled warmly at them and shrugged.

"Yeah. Me an' Mike can go back to annoyin' the hell outta each other." He grinned. 

Continuing their walk, the streets got cleaner and cleaner until they arrived at probably the largest street, no houses nearby. The manor stood tall ahead of them, and as they approached, Paul couldn't help but gasp ever so slightly. Even though he had seen it once before, it still amazed him greatly.   
Giant, looming gates made of black iron and marble pillars along with it, luscious garden sprouting up from behind it. They reached the side fence, out of sight from the royal guards who stood out front (they always informed the queen if they saw Lennon sneaking about so he would sneak over the fence to the side of the house to avoid them), John stopping and leaping up gracefully onto one of the pillars before grabbing onto one of the large sculpted lions perched on top of the pillars, giving it a fake kiss and winking at it. 

"'Ow ya doin', luv?" He then turned to the others. "Come'ead! Quick, before the guards see!" He gestured towards the side garden and promptly jumped down, disappearing into the neatly trimmed bushes, the tall fence swallowing him from sight. George then jumped up a few seconds after the prince spoke and hopped over the side, Ringo following behind quickly. 

"Paul! C'mon, hurry!" George hissed from the other side, the doe-eyed boy having hesitated, glancing all around him before sighing, giving in and reluctantly jumping up onto the pillar, scooting across before jumping down. He didn't predict the height of which he would drop, though, and his knees buckled, tripping right into, you guessed it, John's arms.   
They both blushed furiously and Paul pulled away from his embrace, dusting himself off slightly with an awkward cough before continuing on, again refusing to look at the prince. He noticed Ringo staring at him again from the corner of his eye. What's with Ringo today? And George, for that matter? 

"Wait, John-" George stopped in confusion. "Wha' about Cynthia? She's still 'ere, innshe?" He glanced towards the auburn-haired boy. Cynthia? Who's that? Paul's stomach churned weirdly and he crossed his arms, feeling strangely uncomfortable.

"Oh. Uh-" The boy stood there for a second, getting a far away look in his eyes as the cogs turned in his mind. His expression grew dark and he turned to the others. "Gimme a second, I'll run ahead. Stay here for a few minutes, will ye?" He turned and hurried away, disappearing round the back of the house. Probably to check on her or something. 

"What'd'ye think's goin' on with 'em?" George raised an eyebrow at Ringo.

"I dunno... I don't think they're doin' th' greatest, though." There was a subtle glance towards Paul, who raised his arched eyebrows at them in confusion.   
John has a girl? The thought of that made his heart sink slightly. And they weren't doing so well... he didn't know whether to feel glad or upset for the prince. 

"Oi! What'd'ye both keep lookin' at me fer? Is there somethin' I dunno?" He crossed his arms again, hip sticking out a bit in sassiness. He was tired of the way they'd been acting that day. 

"Nothin', nothin', Paul! Really!" George shrugged, but his eyes averted to the side, and Paul knew he was lying. 

"C'mon, man! Jus' tell me!" Paul threw up his hands in frustration.

"Really, mate, there's nothin'. Sorry we've been actin' strange. It's not because of ye or anythin', trust me." Ringo placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, looking sincere at his friend, who sighed, relaxing his tense muscles before leaning against the fence. 

After standing there in silence for a few minutes, there was a rustle, John running back towards them, large grin on his face and a large amount of objects in his grasp. Paul has noticed his eyes were red rimmed, nose tinted red slightly, and Paul was about to say something until what was in his grasp distracted him.   
Upon closer inspection, what he had in his hands were copious amounts of chocolates and small cakes.

"Guess wha' I nicked, fellas!" He grinned at them smugly. 

"Oh, mate!" Immediately, a salivating George dived for the delicious treats in the princes hands and snatched as many as he could get, before pulling away and munching happily on them. Ringo took a few as well, Paul hesitating before taking a few for himself, giving a small smile John's way before digging into them. Wow. They're really fucking good.

"Jesus, did ya steal these straight from heaven's gates, John? They're delicious!" Ringo stuffed 3 more small chocolates in his mouth with a satisfied sigh, smearing some chocolate on his upper lip unknowingly. George (grossly) kissed it off, turning slowly into a makeout session before Paul and John booed and tossed their empty wrappers at them, thanking the gods when they pulled away slowly, whispering and giggling to each other like the lovesick boyfriends they were. 

Ten minutes later, the entire stash of treats had been consumed and the four were lying on the grass, George's head on Ringo's chest whose shoeless feet were on Paul's stomach, the youngest of the group carding his hands through Ringo's hair languidly. John's head next to Paul's as they laid opposite ways, chuckling to themselves, stomachs full and teeth aching with the disgusting aftertaste from overly sweet chocolate. 

"God I feel so fuckin' fat after tha'. That's probably th' most food I've ever eaten in me life." Paul giggled as he attempted to remove a piece of some type of nut stuck between his teeth. 

"Consider yerself lucky. That was glorious..." George muttered tiredly. "I want more. John, go get more." He rolled over to stare intently at the small-eyed boy, whose demeanour has grown despondent, obviously lost within his thoughts. "John?"

"Huh? Oh. Nah, I took everythin' that was there from the kitchen." He chuckles slightly, but there was no humour in it, eyes growing dark again with thoughts. "Jus' like I did with Cyn. Took everythin' tha' was there an' left 'er fer dead." His hoarse voice was so quiet that it probably wasn't meant for anyone else to hear, but since Paul's head was right next to his, he heard everything the prince had said.   
The ink black-haired boy felt bad for John. Even though the thought of John having someone romantically in his life made his stomach churn weirdly, he still felt bad.. it must suck to have to deal with that. He didn't know the full extent of the story, but it seemed John wasn't being the most faithful or actually being attracted to this Cynthia. He sat up and gazed at the other boy earnestly. 

"Hey. Uhm..." He trailed off, almost feeling embarrassed at thinking to ask the question. "Do ye wanna go down to the pub? Y'know, 'ave a couple drinks, 'ave a bit of fun. Get yer mind off of things fer a bit." He coughed slightly, feeling more and more embarrassed as everyone gazed at him. "If-if ye want, of course." 

"Macca, that's a bloody great idea! Thank ye so much." John jumped right up onto his feet and grinned at him. "Let's 'ave some fun, ey boys?" He glanced at the other two, who both burst into cheers and jumped to their feet as well.

"Wait. We probably shouldn't drink on a full stomach, makes it easier to chuck..." George paused.

"Eh, we'll only 'ave a couple. Come'ead, I know a good place ta go." Ringo waved him off, John holding out a hand to help Paul up. The doe-eyed boy's fingers tingled weirdly at the touch and he rubbed it harshly against his thigh to try and rid it of the feeling. 

Leaping back over the fence, the four set on their way, lead by Ringo, to a local pub in the middle class area of the city where Ringo lived. Once they reached a somewhat crowded street corner, a small, well-lit, cozy pub was situated there, loud chattering and booming, fast-paced piano drifting from inside into the warm air; a worn down sign hung on the top of the building, displaying "Presley Pub". Paul glanced around him and noticed already that the sun was beginning to set, people of the night coming out to enjoy a cold beer and some good tunes with friends. 

"Here we are, guys! Let's goooo!" Ringo turned to them with a grin and an exaggerated grand gesture to the place before making his way inside, Paul, John and George staying close behind, John hiding a little bit behind them. He had gone to regular pubs quite a lot but he still felt out of place sometimes. He had similar clothes to what most people were wearing though, so once they had entered, he grew more comfortable. 

It was a tightly packed place. Many oil lamps and candle chandeliers all about the building - lighting it up with a warm glow and sinking into everyone's skin, turning it a lovely sun kissed orange. People were pretty much everywhere, men and women of all ages, mostly in middle-class or poor standard clothing; bustling about and talking all the while, some playing a game of pool, some sitting at the bar, others dancing on the dance floor, some watching a man playing jaunty tunes on the piano, a woman singing along with him; some seated in booths and at tables. It was such a comfortable atmosphere, and Paul felt his muscles relax at the much more familiar setting, a small smile gracing his lips as the four made a beeline for the bar. 

"Four beers, please." John spoke up for the first time in a while, reaching into his pocket to pull out some dollar notes, handing them to the burly bartender who then went to pour them their drinks. 

"Could ye pay this one, John? I ain't got the money right now-" George pleaded, but was cut off when John chuckled.

"It's alrigh', Geo, man. I got more money than I know what ta do with, it's fine." He waved him off before squeezing into a spot on a rickety stool between two groups of people, taking the drinks from the bartender with a smile and giving them out one by one to each of them. "Drink up boys!" They grinned at each other and clinked their large mugs together before taking a long swig, George chugging a little bit more than necessary.

"Oi, steady on, love! We're not plannin' on gettin' smashed tonight, babe." Ringo gently coaxed the mug away from George's lips with a chuckle, the younger wiping his mouth and grinning evilly at the shorter boy. 

Fuck, George wants to get smashed again. Drunk George is even more annoying than sober George. Paul silently groaned and took another sip of his beer, the three crowded around John, who was the only one to get the last available stool. 

"Wanna move somewhere else? Saw an empty booth in th' corner near the stage-" Ringo gestured to the other end of the pub, and the four began to make their way towards it. As they passed the second to last booth, a brunette girl sitting in the booth made eyes at John, who locked eyes with her, giving a smirk and flashing a wink her way. But, he hadn't noticed where he was going, and bumped right into Paul, who had stopped abruptly in front of their booth, almost spilling his drink on the younger. 

"Paul, wha-" John looked up to see Paul's eyes trained on a poster stuck up on the wall above them.

"Oh, sorry-" Paul spoke vaguely, not looking at John as he reached and pulled it off the wall to look at it. 

"Hey, Paulie! What ye lookin' at?" George spoke from his seat at the table, him and his boyfriend's thighs pressed together discreetly, hands entwined under it.

It displayed in jagged writing;

Now hiring ; pianist to play every Tuesday, Friday and Saturday night! Auditions April 11th 5pm, located here. - Elvis Presley, owner of Presley Pub. 

"Guys!" Paul handed the flyer to George and Ringo. "I've been wantin' ta start playin' pianos in pubs an' stuff, ta make a bit more money fer the family an' meself, y'know." John slipped past the doe-eyed boy and into a seat in the booth, still listening to what Paul was saying. 

"Paul, ye have ta do it! Ye could get us free or discount drinks an' stuff! Yer great at piano!" George grinned up at Paul who slowly sat down next to John in the booth seat, taking another swig of his beer. 

"Yeah! I know Elvis, decent guy! 'e'd love ta 'ave ya!" Ringo nudged the boy excitedly. 

"I know, I know, guys, but..." Paul trailed off, leaning his head in his hand, elbow resting on the wooden table. He tapped his fingers against his cheek irritatedly before taking another swig. "Haven't played piano since I was 13 or so. 'm way too rusty.. I need ta practice, but.. yeah." He fell silent, memories popping back up of his family having to sell their piano to pay for Mary's expenses. Which had done nothing in the end. 

"Wait..." George thought for a second, before an idea formed in his head, and he grinned back up at the two boys across from him, nudging the prince excitedly. "Hey! John 'as a piano! A really good one, in fact- I think 'e has several! Ye could practice there!"

John blinked in shock at George, before turning to watch Paul for his reaction. He was sitting there silently, eyes staring at his drink as he thought to himself. That could be good... but I'd have to interact with John, and I don't really want to in case I say something dumb.. my feelings for him can't get in the way of things. But it would also be really helpful. Why can't I practice at George's instead? Well his broke last week so... yeah. Guess I'm gonna have to go to John's to practice for this whole thing, and be around him by ourselves constantly for the next week. AND that Cynthia is there. Fuck's sake. 

He looked up and smiled at John, pretending as if nothing bad was gonna happen if he was gonna practice at John's manor.

"Yeah, that would be gear. Ye alrigh' with tha', John?" He asked softly.

"Yeah, of course! I could help out an' teach ya, if ya want." John took another sip of his beer with a grin.

"Yeah, course."

The rest of the night went pretty smoothly. George got quite tipsy, not tipsy enough to vomit, though; they went to crash at John's manor, stumbling across the pavement, drunkenly bellowing a not-so-savoury version of 'Happy Birthday', arms slung around each other. Once they snuck in through the servant's entrance, George and Ringo paired off to go to a spare room next to John's, practically all over each other as they stumbled into the room, door shutting a bit too loudly. John and Paul dragged themselves into John's room, not questioning why Paul followed John into his room and didn't go into a spare room of his own, the two collapsing, clothes rumpled and absolutely exhausted, next to each other on the bed. 

"Thanks, Macca." Was what John managed to mumble before falling right asleep, inches away from Paul, who fell asleep a few seconds later. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo gamers!! hope u enjoy  
this chap ayeee,, night out with the boys 😎😎😎 dont have much to say except u guys are the literal best! please leave comments and kudos please please i appreciate them so much they make my mfing day😔feel like ppl dont like this fic anymore but oh well. anyways its 4am just   
finished this chap, time for me to conk out see ya gamers ily all so muchhh <3333 thanks for stickin round if ya have, trust me it’ll get more interesting soon!! byeee


	21. twenty.

april 1859

"Mmh.."

Unbearably bright light bled into a certain coal-haired boy's eyelids, causing them to flutter and his body to recoil, burying his head further into the crook of a neck. But, it was persistent, and caused Paul to slowly come to, becoming aware of his surroundings more and more, eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the morning light, but too tired to move from his position. Head aching slightly from a hangover, but not so bad that even the tiniest bit of light would make him crawl under the bed with a hiss. Thank god I didn't get too hammered last night. It was then he realised - his position was sprawled across a person's chest, head buried in the crook of their exposed neck, lips pressed against their collarbone. 

Wha-   
He lifted his head, suddenly more awake than ever, coming face to face with John Lennon's own, sleeping and peaceful. The prince's arms were wrapped comfortably around Paul's waist, their legs tangled together. Their clothes were still on, thank god; but he was actually lying in John's embrace. In John's giant, extremely comfortable bed, both curled up together in the middle (when there was enough space to comfortably fit five people) in his large, overly decorated room. What the fuck.

There was a soft sigh that sounded next to him, and Paul's heart stopped as John shifted from below Paul, eyelids fluttering as he slowly began to wake up. Fuck, if John sees that I'm awake and staring at him while lying practically on top of him, he's gonna think I'm fuckin' weird. Before John could see that Paul had awoken, he quickly shoved his head back in the crook of his neck and shut his eyes, falling still and pretending to be asleep. Fuck, John smells so good.. like wood and mint.

"Hg, fuckin' 'ell-" John huffed, shifting into a bit more of a sitting position, but suddenly falling still for several seconds. The doe-eyed boy could feel the older's eyes on him and he struggled not to giggle, using up every bit of morning energy he had to keep a still, sleeping face. Silence continued to follow, John hovering over Paul for a few seconds before he slowly began to untangle himself from the younger, his movements delicate and hesitant, as if he didn't want to wake up the other as he slipped from his grasp. A weight lifted from the bed as John got up off of it, mumbling to himself something along the lines of; "get it together, John. Fuck's sake.." As he disappeared from the room, the door shutting gently behind him. 

Once Paul knew the coast was clear, his eyes flew open and he sat up, pressing the heels of his hands harshly into his eyes, trying to process what just happened. John didn't even say anything...and he had stared at Paul for longer than most people would. What did that mean? So many emotions were coursing through him at that moment; one part of him wished John hadn't left and they could just fall back asleep tangled in each other's embrace - another was glad that he left so Paul could escape his overwhelming developing feelings of affection for him, at least for a little while. 

To stop himself from getting too worked up about it, he pulled himself out of John's bed and began to look around the prince's bedroom. On the right side of the large bed, there was a walk-in wardrobe with a long, gold rimmed mirror against one wall, copious amounts of clothes and shoes hanging from hooks and lying sporadically across the floor. Moving away from it, Paul came across a cream coloured chest of drawers placed against the wall next to the door, mainly filled with miscellaneous items and jewellery, a vase of well-kept flowers on top and three drawings lying next to it. Upon further inspection, one sketch depicted a young George and Ringo, sitting next to each other against a tree, deep in conversation. Paul's heart warmed at the sight, picking up the other one, which depicted a teenage boy he didn't recognise, glasses perched on his nose, paintbrush in hand and an easel in front of him. The last was of a bright-haired woman smiling widely, leaning nonchalantly against a metal railing, overlooking the Liverpool docks, wind tussling her hair and coat. It doesn't look like Mimi... was this his mother? It must be Julia...

His heart ached sadly for the older boy and he put the sketches down, not wanting to meddle with them any further before moving to the other side of the room. There was a sleek wooden desk facing a window which had velvet curtains tied up out of the way, many pencils, ink and papers scattered all across it; a few worn books, some by Jane Austen - one being Pride and Prejudice, was there too. Paul noticed a small, worn-down leather notebook among the mess, and he tentatively reached and picked it up, staring at the fading cover. 

Suddenly, something slipped and fell out from the pages, to the floor, face down. Picking it up, he felt curiosity tempting him further and further, and he couldn't resist turning it over to look at it after giving a quick glance around the room.

It was a drawing of John, practically naked except for a single sheet covering his nether regions- sprawled out on a bed amongst tangled blankets, round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Below it, in neat writing; miss you.

Wh.. he could see that it obviously wasn't drawn by John like those previous sketches were. His heart sunk at seeing it. Who would have drawn this? And wrote 'miss you' along with it? It couldn't have been Cynthia, they're about to get married, for christ's sake! Who the hell could it have been? 

Interrupting his thoughts, there was footsteps sounding outside the door and he slammed the book shut, chucking it back on the desk and throwing himself back onto the bed just in time for the door opening, John making his way back in, only in trousers and a towel hanging around his neck, hair wet and tousled. So that's what took him so long. He had a bath. The prince flashed a smile Paul's way, and the boy smiled awkwardly back, looking down at his lap to stop his eyes moving down any further than John's face. 

"Hey, Macca. How'd ye sleep? Need water?" John spoke up, moving into his wardrobe to pick some clothes. Paul couldn't help but stare at his back, the muscles twitching slightly as the older reached up to pull down a black shirt off a rack. 

"Oh, 'm alright, thanks. You?" He quickly focussed his gaze back on his twiddling thumbs, heart racing when John turned back around, the clothes now in his hands as he laid them out on the bed. Paul shifted in his position on the bed again, feeling his cheeks burn a deep red as they locked eyes, both looking away quickly.

"Good, good.. Ringo an' George left a fuckin' mess on the sheets an' fucked off, only left a note sayin' 'sorry fer the mess, gotta go love ye'. Gonna have ta clean it all up before Mimi sees." They both chuckled at the thought. "D'ye need anythin' else? Clothes to wear, taking a bath, or..?" John slipped on the shirt, buttoning it up while gazing at Paul concernedly. Paul allowed himself to look at John now that he was wearing a shirt.

"'m alrigh'..thanks, though." He shrugged with a small smile at John. They were both avoiding the topic of them having woken up in each other's arms, and the younger didn't know whether to feel upset that they were avoiding it or happy that they didn't have to address it.

"D'ye wanna stay fer breakfast at least? I can ask the cooks ta bring bacon an' eggs, we can jus' sit 'ere an' eat.." John leaned against his bedpost, grinning at Paul and wiggling his eyebrows. 

At the thought of having an actually decent meal for the first time in his life, his stomach growled loudly. Bacon and eggs... I don't think I've even had those before. But he knew he had to get home; he couldn't take the overwhelming feelings he felt when he was around John and if he stayed any longer, he would surely explode and spill every thought that had been running through his mind ever since he first met John. 

"N-no, 'm sorry, but..." He trailed off and coughed awkwardly, slowly getting off the bed, fiddling with his sleeve nervously. "I gotta get home. Take care of-of Mike, an' stuff.." A tense silence followed, both standing on either side of the room, staring at each other. The air was so thick, the tension obvious and prevalent, choking Paul so that he couldn't take it anymore, and he hurried past John, picking up his shoes before pulling them on as he left the room, calling out a "bye" as he left. John just watched him leave sadly, and Paul almost instantly regretted his decision; but he decided it was for the best. Leaving the manor through the servant's entrance and running as quick as he could off the property and straight home. It took a little bit to find his way, ending up going the long way, through the crowded, smelly Liverpool docks and back up to his house. 

During the entire walk, he couldn't get John and the events that transpired between them that morning out of his mind. How good and right it felt to be in his arms. The fact that they had both fallen asleep pretty far off from each other, Paul's back actually having been turned to John and still woke up tangled together must have meant something. They were drawn to each other like moths to a flame. The only thing that was stopping Paul was how confused he felt on his feelings; he had never felt this way about a man before. He was slowly growing to accept his feelings for the prince as time went on - but did John even like him back? George had mentioned once that John had had a relationship with another guy (Paul then realised that guy was probably the person who did the drawing of John - and that made him feel extremely jealous) but Paul didn't know whether they were still together or even liked each other anymore. Who the hell could it be? I'm going outta me mind here.

Finally reaching his house, he threw the door open and shut it loudly, making his way past the kitchen and to the bedroom.

"Oi, Paulie! What's goin' on-" Mike called as he noticed his brother coming inside, but Paul didn't reply, going into the hallway and towards the bedroom.

"James Paul McCartney." Jim's stern voice sounded from the kitchen. Paul froze in his spot at the voice, hissing out a 'fuck' knowing exactly what was going to go down. I'm literally dead meat. Here goes. He slowly turned around and made his way back to the kitchen, head low and shoulders slumped, sheepish smile on his face. Mike was sitting at the counter, and he slowly slipped off the seat, side-eyeing his brother with a look that basically said 'you're fucked.' before he hurried off down the hallway and out of sight. 

"Hi, da'." Paul's voice was small as he sat down at the counter, refusing to look his father in the eye. 

"Hello, Paul. How was yer sleep?" Jim was at the stove, boiling some water, and he watched his son curl in on himself at the question, fiddling with his nails to have something to look at other than Jim. 

"Good." Was all the doe-eyed boy could muster. 

"'Cause, I quite recall..." Ah shit, here it is. Paul prepared himself for the lecture about to come. "Ye didn't come 'ome last night." 

"Da', I-" He started, lifting his head to look at his dad, but to no avail.

"Don't interrupt me, James." Jim sighed, looking him in the eye. "Look, I know yer still young an' yer havin' fun with yer friends. But ye need ta tell me occasionally if yer gonna be out all night an' not be back 'til mornin'. Do you realise how worrying that can be when yer son leaves without any tellin' an' doesn't come back all night? I've been lettin' it slide, 'cause I know that yer a responsible kid, an' ye wouldn't get yerself into too much trouble. But, still - I have ta teach ye a lesson." 

Ah, fuck. Paul continued to stay silent, ready for whatever punishment he was going to lash out. 

"Yer grounded for a week."

"Da', c'mon!-" Paul stood up in shock, the chair kicking back and making a squeal sound against the stone.

"No, no exceptions. Stay here, take care o' Mike an' the farm. Yer friends are allowed ta visit, but ye can't go anywhere. Tha's it. 'm bein' very lenient with this. " Jim interrupted him, a stern glare showing that what he decided was final.

"Da'! No, my audition fer the pub is only in five days!" Paul managed to get out, and his dad fell silent for a few moments.

"Audition?" 

"Yeah, well-" Paul was surprised his father was actually letting him speak. "I was gonna audition ta be the pianist at the Presley Pub, yknow. Make a few bucks from it.. it's in five days." He sat back down slowly. "'m gonna be practising at a friend's house for it." 

"Ah. Well.." Jim spoke eventually, thinking to himself for a few seconds. "I'll let ye practise. But-"

"Thank ye, da'!" Paul grinned widely in excitement. 

"But!" Jim raised a wagging finger, small smile on his face. "Ye can only be out fer an hour every day after lunch to go practice at yer friend's. If ye come back any later than an hour, then yer grounded fer a month an' ye can't practice fer th' audition." 

"I promise, da', I'll stick to it! Thank ye!" Paul got off of his seat and ran to hug his dad tightly. Jim chuckled and hugged him back, patting his son on the head.

"'s alright, son. Now, breakfast will be ready soon. I'll call ye when it's done." They pulled away and Paul nodded, waving goodbye before making his way out of the kitchen and to the bedroom. 

Soon as his body collided with the creaky mattress on the floor, the boy let out a loud groan, curling into a ball and burying his head in his hands. Immediately, as soon as he was alone with his thoughts - John entered his mind again like an annoying mosquito. Sighing irritably, the boy rolled onto his back, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Closing his eyes, the only thing he could see was John's face staring back at him, and he sat back up, fingers tapping impatiently on the mattress, wishing there was something he could do to get his mind off of it. He wasn't even allowed to see George or Ringo or anyone; he wasn't allowed to leave the house. The only times he was allowed to leave the house for the next week was to practice piano for his audition. At..John's place. Throwing himself onto his back again he groaned, rubbing his cheeks repeatedly.

I am so fucked.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH HI GAMERS OMG THIS CAME OUT EARLY EEEE hope yall enjoy :')) GAY GAY GAY GAYYY BITCHES B GAY HOO HEE its getting even more gay omfg anyways enjoy dis thing its midnight and im gonnaread fics til i pass out goodnitee <333 u guys r the literal best omgg thanks for so many kudos n shit aaah bjkdvjdf ok ima shut tf up now byeEEE


	22. twenty one.

april 1859 

"Doo doo doo... I'm just swingin' round town.." John hummed to himself nervously, hands shoved in pockets to hide his fidgeting as he entered the manor through the back entrance. It was the day when the four boys had gone to the pub and hung out, and John was about to go and inform Cynthia that his friends had arrived so she wouldn't be startled by them or anything. He was absolutely terrified of confronting her after their last interaction, but he knew it had to be done; he had to try and patch things up with her as best as he could. They were about to get married - he had to do his best to have them on good terms when it happens, for them to be at least friends during this time. He didn't want to fight with Cynthia. He loved her; he truly did. Just not in that way anymore. A certain someone came and changed it all. She still loved him the way they used to love each other... John couldn't bring himself to anymore. It was over. But - despite all of this, at least he was marrying a friend, and not someone who he didn't like. That's what mattered to him. Cynthia and Paul. 

"Uhm, Cyn? It's me." He had finally made his way upstairs and knocked on one of the guest bedrooms where Cynthia was staying, far away from John's room. His heartbeat raced fast and he tried to control his breathing, anxiety taking its hold again as it attempted to get John out of that situation. There was silence for a bit, John's foot tapping nervously against the thick carpeted floor, painted white wooden door staying firmly closed for several minutes, no sound coming from anywhere in the house except from John. He was, in fact, about to give up, turning to trudge away back downstairs, until there was footsteps and the door creaked open. 

There Cyn stood, in a silk white dress and a blanket draped around her, looking tired and despondent, hair knotty but tied up in a loose bun. Her eyes were dull and showed no spark of interest when she spotted John there, instead just stepping aside to let him in, shutting the door gently after him. 

"Cyn.." John slowly sat down on the bed, hands fiddling with a loose piece of fluff over and over again. He needed to break it to her. Tell her how he truly was feeling. 

"Yes, John. You're here to try and patch things up again, aren't you?" Her voice was quiet and emotionless, sitting in the velvet seat across from the bed, clutching the blanket closer to herself, eyes on the floor. 

"Yeah.. look. I know whatever I say won't help anything. There's no going back to what we were anymore." John felt his throat close up, tears threatening to surface, but he kept it away.

"I know. I want to know, though.." The girl trailed off.

"Yeah?" He glanced up to lock eyes with her for the first time since he stepped into the room. 

"Why did you come home so late that night? You came home at 1am." She stood up, seemingly regained some of her old confidence, and John could see the anger beginning to build up inside her. His heart sunk, and he sighed, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I-"

"Do you love her?"

"What?" John started at her in disbelief. What was she on about?

"Don't think I'm stupid, John." She chuckled, but there wasn't any humour in it, and tears were building up in the blonde's eyes again. "The fact that you ran away when I said "love me", we haven't had sex in months, you're never around me as much as you used to be, you don't say 'I love you' anymore.." She let out a shaky sigh, and John stood up quickly, moving to try and comfort her, but she pushed him away softly, a sob escaping from her mouth. "Now you're coming back home at ungodly hours of the night, or not even at night at all. I know you're in love with someone else, John. I can see it. Is she pretty? Does she take care of you?" 

"I-I- Cyn-" He stuttered, at a loss for words, stepping back and clenching tightly at the ends of his sleeves. He could feel the tears rising again and he struggled to keep quiet, heart aching horribly. He felt so horrible, so guilty, for leaving her like this. I'm such a horrible person. Why couldn't I have just not gone and started liking Paul? Fuck. A tear slipped down from his cheek and he fell backwards onto the bed, leaning forward and pressing his fingers into his eyes with a shaky huff. How do I tell her it's not a girl?

"It's... it's okay, John. Really." Cynthia sobbed and sat down beside him, wrapping her arms tight around her fiancé, her tears wetting his shoulder as she hiccuped, sniffling. "I-I just wish you could've told me sooner.. if-if-if-" She sobbed again. "If she makes you happy, I'm.. I'm okay with it." 

"It's not a girl!" John blurted before he could stop himself, eyes growing wide as he pulled himself from Cynthia's embrace, slapping a hand over his mouth. Fuck, I said too much. 

"Wh..." Cynthia spoke eventually, her tears immediately stopping as she stared up at her fiancé in shock. "It's... a man?"

".... yeah. I-I-" John stuttered before falling into the chair with a cry, curling in on himself as all his bottled up emotions came out all at once, tears soaking his pant knees as he buried his head in them. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry-" 

"John, John.." Cynthia stood up and leaned down in front of him, hands lifting his chin up and wrapping around his cheeks. With a gentle thumb the girl wiped away stray tears with a sad smile. "It's okay. I ... it's okay. You're still my John." She coaxed him to stand up before pulling him into a tight hug, both holding on as tightly as they could, heads burying into each other's shoulders and breathing in their scent for what would probably be the last time. 

"I-How are you takin' this so well?" John pulled away to look her in the eye, another tear slipping down his cheek. "I... I'm sorry-"

"John.. it's okay." She gazed at him earnestly. "To be honest, I wasn't surprised when you confessed it was a man.." She glanced to look at the floor. "I always suspected something. The way you acted around that Stuart.. I knew that something was up. Is.. do you love him?" She asked eventually, looking back up at him as she struggled not to burst into tears at just saying that. 

"I... It's not him. He's in love with Astrid." John chuckled humorlessly, another tear falling and being wiped away quickly. "His name is Paul." 

"Do you guys love each other? I need to know." She pulled away and sat on the bed, silent tears still streaming down her face.

"N.. no. We're not even together yet, actually." The prince sighed. He didn't want to talk about it any longer, as he could see Cynthia growing more and more pained at hearing the words coming from his mouth. 

"I.. please leave." Cyn sobbed into her hands.

"Cynthia, I-" He stepped towards her, feeling his heart ache in sadness, throat tightening, but she raised a hand, stilling him from moving any further.

"Don't. Please... just go. I-I need some time. I love you, but I need time to p-process this. I can't look at you right now." She continued to cry heavily, curling up on the bed and brokenly sobbing into her hands. 

"I.. I love you too." He spoke eventually. Then turning and slowly walking out of the room, shutting the door after him almost silently, standing there in the hallway in dead silence for a few seconds before collapsing against the wall, a sob bursting from his throat as he buried his head in his knees, masking his cries by biting onto his sleeve. Broken gasps was the only thing being heard in the hallway for several minutes. 

Until, there was the creak of a door opening, footsteps coming down the hallway. Peeking out from between his fingers, John spotted Stuart and Astrid, creeping from the spare room down the end of the hall, eyes wide and looking embarrassed as they stared at him. They had obviously heard the entire ordeal, and the thought of that made John's stomach churn, his skin crawling with embarrassment as he shoved his head back between his knees with a shaky breath. There was one pair of footsteps, quiet and tentative, approaching him, and he didn't push away the hand that came to his shoulder, a familiar sigh gracing his ears.

"John..." Stuart's voice was just above a whisper, and it was dripping with sickly sympathy, causing irritation to rise up in his throat like bile. He didn't really need this right now.

"Piss off, Stu, would ya?" The distraught boy muttered, pulling his legs closer to his body protectively. 

"Look.. 'm sorry. I know how ye feel about us hearin' about the whole thing, but trust me, we didn't mean to." He continued to speak, a hand reaching under John's chin and lifting his head up, earnest look in his eyes as he gently sat down in front of his ex-lover. His hair was unkempt, clothes lazily thrown back on, cheeks flushed; him and Astrid (she had disappeared back into the room at some point - John didn't really care if she was listening to them) had obviously been doing some things before they were interrupted by Cynthia and John's meltdown, and that caused John to be all the more angry, frustration bubbling in his chest and causing him to grip at the ends of his trousers tightly. "I care about ye, John. I want ta help ye... what's been goin' on?"

John huffed and turned away, refusing to look at the younger boy as he glared at the carpet next to him. "Nothin'. None o' yer business." 

"John..." Stu sighed eventually, and he pulled his hand away, looking down into his lap. "I don't expect ye to open up ta me. Yer right.. it is yer business. Just-" He slowly stood up, brushing himself off. "Just know.. 'm here. I know.. we left off on a bad note- but 'm still here fer ye." The younger then began to walk away, disappearing down the hallway and back to the room at the end of the hall. John struggled not to burst into tears, feeling abandoned once again as Stuart walked out on him - he felt as if everything was falling apart as of late. His relationship with Cynthia, disappointing Mimi, the impending doom of his life being over after the marriage and being crowned King, no escape and being forced into a life he didn't wish for, and now Stuart.. 

Why does everyone leave him? His mother, his father, who had never even met, his uncle, Eppy, Stuart.. who's to say George or Ringo won't leave him either? Or even worse, Paul? The thought of Paul abandoning him was almost too much to bear, and tears slipped further down his cheeks at that. Mimi didn't understand him, she tried, but.. she was a product of her upbringing, something that John didn't want. His rich friends Pete, Dave, those people - were just assholes and he could never actually be friends with them. They were airheads with no personality who thought it was a fun time to be cruel and bully the poor and everyone who wasn't like them in the world. 

He stood up and hurried away, down the gigantic stairs and across the front parlour, down the east hallway and to his room. Before he could reach it, though, a curious voice called out from the parlour.

"John? Where have you been, I've been looking for you everywhere-" Mimi made her way over to her nephew. 

"Mimi, jus'.." He knew she wanted to discuss some future plans for the manor or something she had mentioned at an awkward dinner a few days ago and he just couldn't deal with it at the moment. "Later." His voice was quiet and hoarse, and he continued down the hallway, to his room at the end and shutting the door loudly. 

Mimi didn't pursue him, thank god, and he collapsed onto his bed, burying his head in the pillows and letting out a cry of frustration, hands pulling at his hair. 

Paul, I really fucking need you right now...

✧✧✧✧✧

Speaking of Paul, that particular boy was continuing to plague John's mind two days later. He was lying sprawled on his bed, wearing nothing but a singlet and trousers, puffing away at a pipe, eyes half-shut, enjoying the sounds of the spring air coming from his half-opened window. He was indulging the thoughts at this point, his mind running wild fantasies of the two falling hopelessly in love with each other and running away to France, living in a small flat all by themselves next to the river Seine, making love every night and just being together. Maybe George and Ringo could tag along with them, but they would have to keep the fucking to a minimum.   
It was an impossible feat, though, a one in a million chance that that would actually happen; that wouldn't stop John imagining it though. 

The thought of it made a wide smile appear on his face, and he giggled to himself, flipping onto his stomach before burying his head in his pillow with a sigh, cheeks almost hurting from smiling so much. Warmth and butterflies exploded in his stomach every time he thought about Paul; the feeling was so exciting and serotonin-filled, he absolutely loved it. The doe-eyed boy made him feel so happy and excited, as if the prince could do anything he wanted in the entire world and achieve all his hopes and dreams. He had only felt this way once before, but this time it felt so much better because Paul was such an amazing person. He was so funny, interesting, and they actually had so much in common despite being born into entirely different backgrounds. And he was so bloody attractive. Long and dark eyelashes, eyes that changed colour in the light, but usually a shade of green mixed with brown - a small, turned up nose, smooth pale skin, strong arms, long legs, slim waist, (full, round arse), thick, shiny ink black hair, perfectly arched brows; and fucking killer lips. He wanted so badly to get a feel of them against his own, but he was biding his time - waiting for the perfect moment to express his feelings. At this point, he was just desperate to get all of his feelings out. It would be a plus if Paul ended up feeling the same way, but he just wanted so badly to tell him how he felt. 

Clink, clink.

There was a clink sound coming from his window that interrupted his daydreaming. Lifting his head, he flipped back over onto his back and sat up, listening curiously for the noise again.

Clink.

"Oi, John!" A distant, but familiar voice called from far off, and he stood up, going to his window and opening it fully, peering out before taking another puff of the pipe. Down on the perfectly cut grass below his window, was a Paul McCartney, poised with a handful of pebbles to throw at John's window, chucking them away as he spotted John peering out.

"Paul?" He called, utterly confused. What was he doing here? It's like his thoughts summoned the younger boy. 

"C'mon, let me in!" Paul called back, impatiently gesturing to the back entrance, looking incredibly nervous and awkward. "I don't wanna stand 'ere any longer!"

"Right, right-" John quickly put out the pipe and hurried away, grabbing the nearest shirt before doing it up as he dashed out the room and down the stairs to the back entrance, bursting through and running straight to Paul. "Come on!" He grinned at the younger, feeling an explosion of butterflies again as he grabbed his wrist, both running away before they were spotted and through the servant's entrance again, John flashing a grin and a wink towards the maids that were walking past, all bursting into giggles and whispers at seeing the two run past. 

"Where're we goin'?-" Paul questioned as he was being led through a flurry of hallways and stairs until they reached a room at the far east corner on the second floor, John pulling him in with a dramatic flourish. "John!"

"Welcome, to my humble abode." He gestured grandly to a large room which had one wall entirely made of bookshelves, two velvet couches facing each other with a coffee table in between, large windows whose curtains were drawn, a sliver of light escaping through a crack in the middle. John hadn't been much in it lately, but it brought back strong memories from a long time ago.

"That's it! You win, sir captain! I'm defeated!" Seven-year-old George puffed out, pulling off the top hat he stole from his father and dumping it on the floor. "I can chase after you no more."

"Ha! See that? I win! I am the best pirate in all of the land, and you're the worst!" Nine-year-old John made a face at his friend, who wasn't really paying attention to the prince, gazing in wonder and amazement at the room he had only seen twice now.

The only thing that had changed since then in this room was a grand piano had been placed in the corner of the room, next to the windows. "Wow. Is this a sort of lounge area?" Paul asked quietly, gazing around at the room in awe and wonder, the same look George had all those years ago. 

"Yeah, I guess. I haven't been in here fer a while, it's sort of unused. But.. it's quiet. No one ever comes in 'ere. It's far off from the rest of th' people who live 'ere." John shrugged somewhat nonchalantly as he wandered about the room, dragging a finger across the dusty books on the looming bookshelves, cheeky grin hidden from Paul's sight. 

"Right.. well, I came 'ere ta practice. Fer my audition.." The younger spoke as he awkwardly sat on the edge of one of the couches, looking as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. "I got grounded."

"Wha'? What did little Macca do ta get himself grounded?" John whipped around with a somewhat shocked expression, grin widening as he jumped onto the couch across from the coal-haired boy, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Been stayin' out too late an' stuff.. didn't tell me da' when we went off to th' pub an' didn't come back 'til mornin'. Duh." Paul giggled and rolled his eyes with a small smile directed towards the older. The giggle was literal music to John's ears, and, desperately wanting to hear it again, he laid down at Paul's feet on the carpeted floor, grinning up at him and nudging his leg.

"Naughty boy sneakin' out, eh? Comin' ta see his one true love?" John batted his eyelashes at the younger with a sickly sweet smile, who giggled again and nudged his arm with his foot. Fuck, I could listen to that for hours. John's grin widened at hearing it. 

"Of course. Who else?" Paul leaned down with a grin and a wink at John before standing up and making his way to the piano. John practically short-circuited at Paul winking at him and his cheeks flamed red, eyes wide as he laid there in shock. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck-

"'ey, ye fuckin' dead down there or wha'? Come'ead, help me practice." Paul called from his spot sitting on the piano seat, watching John quickly get up and awkwardly cough, dusting himself off with red cheeks with an amused smile. 

"Yeah, comin'..." John muttered as he slipped onto the seat next to Paul. The chair was almost too small for them to both fit, and they had to sit with their arms and thighs pressed together. The prince's heart beat fast and his cheeks flamed even more, every hair on his body standing up at the electrifying touch between them, as if the friction was causing electricity to spark, like when you're rubbing a balloon on your head and your hair sticks to it and stands up like crazy. 

"Righ', well.. w-wha'd'ye wanna start with?" John stuttered slightly, trying not to focus on the feel of Paul pressed against him, instead focussing on playing a few chords, the rich, lovely sound of the piano echoing through the room. 

"Uh.. here, lemme show ye wha' I can do so far.." Paul reached up to place his hands on the keys and their fingertips brushed together, causing both to pull away as if they were both electrocuted, secretly side eyeing each other and looking away with flushed cheeks when they made eye contact. Fuck, stop it, Lennon. Play it cool. It's just Paul. Not a big deal. You're the prince of Liverpool, for christ's sake, you should be able to handle anything. 

Paul began to play a few of the basic chords, his movements flowing and exact, playing a little bit of a song before stopping, turning to look at John again.   
"This is as much as I can do.. well, remember." 

"Wow, yer quite a natural already! I can see yer really good, an' ye used ta practice well.." John smiled at the younger warmly, before getting up and going to the bookshelves, rummaging through them before coming across loose sheets of paper, pulling them out with an 'aha!'. He brought them back to the piano and put it on the music stand above the keys. "Now-"

"Uhm, John?" Paul spoke up tentatively.

"Yeah?" The prince turned to look at the younger.

"I can't..read sheet music. Or.. well, words, fer tha' fact. I don' read so good." His voice was small and he looked down at his lap with embarrassment, fiddling with his shirt sleeve nervously. "Sorry-"

"No, no, Macca- it's okay. Really." John put a hand on his shoulder, gazing at him earnestly. His heart sank at hearing that. "D..did ye never go ta school?"

"No." Paul spoke eventually. "Da' homeschooled me an' Mike 'til we were six or so, teachin' us basic things an' how ta talk, but 'e didn't 'ave a proper education either. We've been poor fer lotsa generations.. but then I started working at seven. We couldn't afford school. Neither could Geo." His composure had grown sad as he picked at his nails. " I still like ta read anyway. Even though I can't understand 'alf of it.. I can sometimes discern words because they look like they would sound a certain way an' stuff.. but most of it I can't read at all." He chuckled, but without any real humour in it. "Can't really write either. George can more than me." The doe-eyed boy sighed. "Tha's what happens when ye can't afford an education an' every member of yer family has ta work from a young age to be able ta put food on th' table." 

Silence followed for several seconds, John at a loss of words for once at what Paul had said. He couldn't imagine starting work at seven years old.. not ever having an education. Not even knowing how to read properly. The auburn-haired man looked down at his lap. He realised then how truly privileged he was - that half the population couldn't even afford basic education or necessities. It wasn't fair at all. He felt kind of responsible for it all, being the prince of Liverpool- he had so much influence, he could be changing everything at that moment. He was about to be King! He could change so much with it. Make sure future Liverpudlians can get a proper education and everything; the government controlled the majority of those kinds of things, but he still had a bit of power, being of royal descent. It wasn't like the 1700's where the kings and queens still ruled over everyone; it wasn't like that anymore. 

"John. I know. It's okay." Paul's soothing voice pulled him from his thoughts, the boy wrapping an arm around the older's shoulders and smiling warmly at him. "I know ye feel responsible. It's not yer fault, okay? It isn't. Ye didn't create this, ye didn't ask fer it. So.. please don't blame yerself. There's only so much ye can do."

"Th....thanks, Paul." John smiled softly back, both locking eyes. " I promise, that I'll help ye. I can help teach ye ta proper read an' write, an' stuff - George too. Ye deserve ta be able to." 

"That.. means so much ta me, John. More than ye know." 

The hour had gone by extremely fast, John teaching Paul more complicated chords and the beginning of the Can-Can, both joking and laughing all the while. Paul was very talented and a natural, learning everything John was teaching extremely fast, the things he had previously learnt when he used to have a piano coming back to mind. It was insane how fucking perfect Paul was at everything, and John was almost jealous. Eventually, Paul noticed the time and had to go, but not without pulling John into a tight hug before leaving, which sent the prince reeling, lying there on the couch for ten minutes after that, relishing the lingering feeling of Paul hugging him with a lovesick grin on his face, sighing every five seconds. He felt like a bloody bird when he thought of Paul. 

Needing desperately to tell this to someone, he got up and hurried out of the room, ignoring weird looks he got from the servants before he burst through the front doors, sprinting all the way to a certain person’s house. 

Knocking fervently on the door, he tapped his foot impatiently on the porch of the clean, largish house, hands fiddling irritatedly behind his back. After a few moments of waiting, the door was flung open.

“Oh, John. Hello.” Mrs. Starkey spotted the boy standing on her front porch and waved him in indifferently, not surprised at the fact that he was there. 

“Hello, Mrs. Starkey. Lovely apron.” He complimented her stripy apron with a smile. “Is Ringo around?”

“Thanks. And yes, upstairs.” She gestured to the stairs and smiled before walking back to the kitchen and out of sight. John quickly hurried up the stairs and burst into Ringo’s room, not even caring about what he was doing and immediately beginning talking.

“Wha’- John!” The big-nosed boy jumped in fright as his friend burst into the room and he looked up from lying on his bed, reading his book, in shock.

“Ringo, oh my god!” John threw himself onto the bed, forcing Ringo to pull his legs up to his body as John pretended to faint with a loud sigh. “I need to talk to ye.”

“Oh shit, what’s ‘appened with Paulie now?” Ringo chuckled as he bookmarked his page, chucking the book somewhere and leaning on his stomach, resting his head in his hands with cheeky smile and raise of his eyebrows at the younger. “Tell us the goss.”

“Well..” John then told him everything that had transpired just an hour ago, Ringo listening intently to the prince’s lovesick rambling. Once he was done, John sighed again, large grin on his face as he stared up at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s what happened. God, I’m really in deep, man..” 

“I can bloody see that. Ye sound like yer in love or sum shit.” Ringo sat up to pick his pipe off of his bedside table, putting more tobacco in it and striking a match to light it. 

“Nah..” John shrugged slightly. “Not yet. I’m goin’ crazy, though, man! I need ta tell ‘im how I feel!” The boy groaned, burying his head in his hands. 

“Bloody do it! Wha’ is there ta stop ye? He’s not homophobic or anythin’, isn’t gonna hand ye over to the coppers or sumthin’.” Ringo threw up his hands before taking a puff of the pipe, handing it over wordlessly when John held out a hand.

“I know, I know.. but ‘m terrified he doesn’t like me back.”

“Hmm.. yeah, understandable. I mean, Geo kissed me even though ‘w didn’t know I liked ‘im, an’ it worked out fine. Sometimes ye gotta take chances, y’know!” Ringo rested his chin in his hands again, gazing at John.

“I know, but... this is different. We’re different.” John sighed, running a hand through his hair as he passed the pipe back to his friend, still staring at the ceiling. “I dunno if I can do tha’.” 

“Ah, yeah. I get that.” Ringo hummed, taking another slow puff as he thought to himself, smoke billowing from his plump lips and billowing into the air. “Well...” 

“Wha’?” John glanced over to his friend, and he could see the expression on his face meant the older had gotten an idea. “What are ye thinkin’?”

“Remember how I said I’d try an’ see if I can get Paul ta tell me if he likes ye or not?” Ringo slowly grinned at John.

“Yeah...” The auburn-haired boy’s eyebrows raised.

“Well, I could find out fer ya. Go over to his tomorrow an’ see if I could squeeze th’ information outta him.” The boy nonchalantly shrugged, taking another puff of the pipe before passing it back to John.

“Really? Oh my god, yer the best, Rings! Thank ye!” John grinned and slapped Ringo on the back with a chuckle. “Then I can make me move.”

“Begin operation: Paul an’ John!”

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH HI im giving updates really damn fast omfg hope yall enjoy this one its pretty long, 5000 words!! aahhh the time is coming hehehehrhrhehe even more gay hours ((;; we love yearning john ok hes so cute and i love him ,,,, anyways enjoy this chap s 5am and i should sleep my eyes sting a lot ow ow goodbyeee💕💓


	23. twenty two.

april 1859

[play collar full by panic! at the disco while reading!]

[SMUT WARNING - skip if you want when it happens]

Thick, dark, swarming clouds loomed ahead over Liverpool that day.   
Paul was hard at work, mixing up chicken feed in their run-down barn, clad in a beige cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to elbows and suspenders with tight pants, large boots along with it [imagine like that play they did with grandma george, thats what he looks like]. After adding in the last of the corn pellets, he carried the troughs out to the chicken coop, the chickens all crowding around him with loud squawks when they realised he was carrying their breakfast. Placing it down, he spoke to them in a cooing, soft voice.

"Breakfast, loves. Enjoy." He sat down with a small smile as he watched the chickens crowd around the trough, devouring the food. Chickens were one of his favourite animals; he loved taking care of them and spending time in the coop. They liked to curl up in his lap or sit on his shoulder and he would talk to them, for ages, about everything. He felt like they were his confidants, that he could talk to them about anything. They never judged, but weren't happy if he didn't let them have a peck of his food if he brought it out there to eat with them. And they couldn't speak English either, so that was a bit of a plus. 

As he sat there, his favourite, a sleek black hen he named Olive made her way over to the young boy, hopping up on his knee and staring up at him with her beady little eyes. He reached up a hand to pet her soft feathers, making soft cooing noises while leaning against the side of the coop, staring up at the sky. It looked like it was about to rain. He hoped it wouldn't before the time came for him to go practice at John's. 

"Oi, Paulie!" A familiar voice called from behind him, and he turned to look. There Ringo was, trotting over from the back door of the house and across the farm towards Paul, sporting a cheerful grin on his face. 

"Hey, Rings!" Paul grinned back, not getting up from his spot on the floor of the chicken coop as he was too comfortable, but he waved the older boy over nonetheless. 

"What's been goin' on, eh? Hangin' with the chicks?" The shorter boy chuckled at his joke, winking before making his way inside. 

"Yeah, course. They all love me." He wiggled his eyebrows and gestured to the chickens, who were now all crowding around him again, squawking for more food as they had consumed the entire trough. 

They both giggled at that, before Paul stood up, coaxing Olive off of him and dusting himself off.

"Wanna help me collect th' eggs an' package 'em? I gotta do that first before lunch." 

"Sure." They both fell into a comfortable silence as they reached into the pen, picking up as many eggs as they could carry (expertly dodging the pecks and screeches from some of the nesting hens) and putting them in nearby baskets, carrying the two baskets to the shed next to the barn, putting them down on the bench inside. "Hey, Paul?" Ringo eventually spoke, turning to look at his best friend.

"Yah?" The sable-haired boy responded absentmindedly, grabbing egg cartons and opening them up before beginning to fill them up with eggs, not looking at the older boy. 

"Sooo... wha'd'ye think of John, eh?" A small smirk appeared on Ringo's face and he leaned against the bench nonchalantly, watching Paul for his reaction. 

"Oh, uh... he's nice." Paul's cheeks went beet red, his heartbeat picking up. Fuck. Play it cool.. He thought to himself, focussing as much as he can on packaging the eggs, trying not to let his hands shake too much. 

"Just nice?" Ringo nudged him with a wiggle of his eyebrows, before beginning to package some eggs himself. "Nothin' else ta say...?"

"Well, I dunno.. I didn't like 'im at first, but I was jus' bein' stupid. He's actually a good guy, I was wrong." Paul coughed awkwardly, cheeks flaming even more as he struggled not to spill every thought he had about John right then and there. "He's...y'know, n-nice." Fuck, I stuttered. He knows I'm lying.

"Mmmm... I've known ye fer a while, Paul, an' I can tell when yer lyin'." Ringo said exactly what Paul was thinking, and the younger let out a sigh. Goddammit. "C'mon, spill the beans. Wha'd'ye really think of our prince?" The azure-eyed boy leaned in further excitedly, poking the boy in the shoulder incessantly.

"Fuck off-" Paul shoved the hand away with a roll of his eyes. Guess it's time to spill the beans.. inhaling slowly, the boy turned back to continue packing the last of the eggs to give something for his hands to do. "Well.. I guess I've been feeling ..some kinda way around him..." 

"Oh my god. You like him?" A gigantic grin appeared on Ringo's face, so bright it could blind anyone who came across it. When Paul didn't reply, he laughed in excitement. "Ye like him!!" 

"N-no-"

"Paulie's in love with Johnny! Paulie's in love with Johnny!-" Ringo chanted loudly, dancing about the shed, grabbing onto Paul's shoulders and attempting to make him dance with him, but to no avail.

"Shh! Not so loud, git!" Paul stilled his friend by slapping a hand over his mouth, shooting him a glare before glancing frantically around, making sure no one else heard anything. "My da's out working in the corn field!" 

"Oh, sorry." Ringo fell silent. "But- d'ye actually like him? Like, romantically?" The older spoke more quietly this time as they put the filled egg cartons into a cardboard box. 

"...yeah. I think I might. I've accepted it at this point. He's the only guy that.. I've felt this way about before." The doe-eyed boy's voice was small. "But.. there's no chance of anythin' happenin'." He shrugged, picking up the box and carrying it out of the shed, Ringo following close behind. "John's not gay." 

"See.. that's where yer wrong!" Ringo grinned even wider than he had before. 

"Wha'? Wha'd'ye mean, mate?" Paul stopped in his tracks, staring at him in bewilderment. "Does...wh.." He slowly began to connect the dots in his mind. John having troubles with Cynthia, the way he acted when they woke up together that morning, coming over to his place anyway even when Paul didn't like him, giving him gifts, flirting incessantly..

Ringo nodded excitedly. "C'mon, spit it out!"

"Does John.. like me back??" Paul's breath hitched and he almost dropped the box in shock at the revelation. Carefully putting it down, he grabbed onto Ringo's shoulders and stared at him intensely. "Ringo, does John feel the same way?" 

"Yes!" Ringo giggled and jumped up and down in excitement. "Yes, he does!" His one true pairing is finally gonna get together!

"Oh my god.." Paul spoke eventually, running a hand through his hair in complete shock. "He.. he fuckin' likes me back. I-I- fuck, wha' do I do?" He began to pace anxiously, hands pulling at the end of his shirt nervously. "I've-I've never done this before. How d'ye ask a guy out?"

"Paul!" Ringo stepped in front of him, placing his hands on the younger's shoulder to still his movements. He lifted his chin with a hand and raised his eyebrows. "Jus' tell 'im how ye feel. 'e feels th' same way, doesn't 'e? What else is there ta be worried about now? Take the fuckin' chance!" 

"..Yeah. Yeah. Take the chance." Paul nodded quickly, trying to put a brave face on as he gave Ringo a nervous smile. "Take the chance!" 

"Go, Paul! Do it!" Ringo gestured vaguely around the field, and fell atop one knee holding up one hand. "Ask yer one true love ta marry you!" He grabbed onto Paul's hand and stared up at him with conviction. "Adieu, adieu! John, my love! Let me suck yer di-"

"Oh, pack it, will ye?" Paul kicked him in the shin, causing the older to fall to the ground and dramatically groan, holding onto his shin.

"Oh, god.. Paul, ye've murdered me! 'm gonna die... I see the light.." Ringo then proceeded to crawl towards the boy across the grass, clutching onto his ankles as he pretended to sob.

"Fuck off, ye grot bastard!" Paul giggled and jumped away from his friend's grasp. "If yer gonna be a fookin' nuisance, go bloody annoy George." Rolling his eyes.

"Fine, fine.. I gotta go meet up with 'im anyroad." Ringo stood up and brushed the stray blades of grass, winking at the doe-eyed boy. " An' talk about the hot new goss." The shorter boy struck a suggestive pose before starting to walk off.

"Ugh, whatever. Go fuck yer boyfriend, alrigh'? See ya later." They both exchanged laughing goodbyes and Ringo ran off into the distance, back the way he came. 

Once Paul was left alone, he picked up the box again and made his way to the back of the house, where all the other boxes of eggs were ready to be sold. 

"Paul! Lunch is ready!" Jim called from the house, and Paul looked up in surprise. It's already lunchtime.

"Comin', da!" He stacked the box on top of the other ones before making his way inside, nerves consuming him all over again at the thought of meeting up with John in less than twenty minutes.

Here goes fuckin' nothing.

✧✧✧✧✧

"Where is 'e? He should be here by now.." 

John paced frantically back and forth in his room. He was waiting for Paul to come over for the practising session, nerves wrecked and anxiety flying high; he was planning on confessing his feelings for the younger that day. He couldn't keep it to himself any longer - he had to let it all out. He didn't even care if Ringo hadn't yet found out if Paul liked him back, he needed to tell him anyway. His heart was beating so fast, and he had to control his breathing before he spiralled any further out of control. 

The two had agreed for Paul to come over every day for the next three days or so after lunch, to practice for a bit and refine the younger's skills; John wished he could stay longer, but he knew that Paul had been grounded and couldn't stay any longer than what he had been given. John was glad that they could meet up at all.

[begin the song]

"Hey, Johnny!" A familiar voice called from a distance, and John immediately peered out his open window with a wide grin. There Paul was, grinning up at him from below. The sky above had turned an even darker grey and a smatter of raindrops were beginning to fall. 

"Hi!" John yelled out before dashing away from the window, out of his room and straight to the back entrance to greet Paul, excitement and joy running through his veins so strongly that he felt he would explode into a lovesick mess at the younger's feet. 

Suddenly, as he flung the door open, he collided with a body and they both fell to the floor with an 'oof' as the air was shoved out of John's lungs, Paul on top of the other as they collided with the wood.

"Ow.. s-sorry John, I tripped on th' step." Paul stuttered awkwardly, the younger slowly pulling himself up on his elbows to stare at the older with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. John's cheeks went beet red as his chest brushed against his. It was deadly silent in the room, both staring at each other for several seconds.

"It's ok." John whispered eventually. 

Their faces were just inches away from each other, breath mixing in the air, just begging to kiss, but Paul slowly got up off of the floor, holding out a hand to help the prince up. Sighing, John gripped it and pulled himself up, feeling the familiar shocks of electricity shooting up his arm at their hands touching. Goddamnit, Paul.

"Right! Let's get started." John clapped his hands together and promptly led Paul to the study room, going straight for the piano to begin practising. Nerves began to rise in his stomach like bile and he tried to keep his composure.

"What are we gonna work on today?" Paul asked as he slid into the seat next to John nonchalantly, again being pressed up against each other. Anxiety started to close in on the prince and he swallowed drily, cheeks flaming as he reached to place his shaking fingers on the keys. 

"Uh.. some faster ones fer today-"

"Wait!" Paul spoke up, suddenly reaching over John to peek through the half closed curtains. This caused the prince to lean back to avoid Paul's extremely close face (wished he didn't have to though), cheeks flushing even more as he struggled not to go into panic mode. Paul was basically pressing his entire body against his to look outside, and John started to think whether or not Paul was doing it on purpose. Fuck shit fuck ass cheeks fuck fuck- 

"It's raining bucketloads!" Paul stood up and moved around the piano, finally removing himself from basically trying to morph with John so the older could breathe before looking out the window again.

"Well spotted."

Paul turned around to look at him with an ever-growing smile, before holding his hand out, other behind his back, eyebrows raised.

"Care to dance, fair lady?" 

"Wha'? What are ye on about-" John stared at him in utter bewilderment before suddenly he was pulled from his chair and dragged out of the room.

"Come'ead! Let's go dance in the rain!" Paul grinned back at him as John willingly ran with Paul down the stairs and out the door, into the cascading rain outside. Thunder cracked loudly in the distance accompanied by a flash of light, and suddenly, the younger pulled John flush against him once they had arrived in the garden, wrapping a tight arm around his waist and entwining his other hand with the older's.

"A-are ye crazy? No!-" John stuttered, flustered at the feeling of a shiver bursting up his spine (partly because of the freezing rain rolling down the back of his neck and also Paul).

"Only fer you." Paul shot back playfully, wiggling his eyebrows as they started to waltz, feet slipping on the wet grass as they twirled beneath the rain. When those words came from Paul's lips, John practically stopped breathing, a small breathless chuckle escaping, feeling heat spread all over his body despite the rain, especially his cheeks.

He couldn't stop staring at Paul for even a second. He wanted to capture this moment forever burned into his mind, the two of them dancing stupidly in the rain, the cacophony of thunder and Paul's laughs being their music; the way the younger looked, hair slick and shiny, sticking to his head from rain, the water running down his smiling, cherubic face and soaking his clothes, causing them to stick tightly to his body - it was fucking mesmerising, and John could stare at him like that for the rest of his life, nothing else getting in the way. 

"Fuck." John couldn't help but blurt out, completely breathless with the way Paul took it away without having to do anything at all. 

"Wha'? Not havin' fun?" They continued to slip and slide on the soaked grass, John pulling away as Paul twirled with a loud giggle, before twirling straight back into his arms.

"Of course! Is tha' even a question?" John couldn't help but burst into laughter, pulling Paul tighter against himself as their breaths mixed in the air. "The most fun I've had in me life." Everything around them was beginning to fall away at this point, the only thing they could see being the two of them, dancing into eternity.

"Really? Do I mean that much ta ye?" The younger leaned closer as they continued to waltz crazily, not really doing anything other than twirling over and over, not caring about anything else at that point; Paul's face was, once again, incredibly close to John's, who felt his heart beat incredibly fast, every nerve alive and buzzing, skin alight with fire and electricity, suddenly aware of every bone in his body and every feeling against his skin. 

Yes.

"Well, d'ye wanna find out?" Was what John went with and he twirled Paul around again, who burst into laughter as the younger tripped on a rock and fell to the grass, pulling the prince down with him before they rolled down the hill, tangled together in breathless laughter, stomachs and chests aching with the continuous effort. 

"Oh my god- OW! Fuck, ye kneed me in th' balls, Macca!" John cried out as they arrived at the bottom of the hill, still completely tangled in a mass of limbs, laughing into each other's mouths - Paul made an odd keening noise and pressed his nose into John's jaw, short, sporadic breaths billowing against the skin of the older's neck, causing John to twitch slightly at the feeling. Eventually falling silent, the prince noticed Paul's lips were so close to John's neck, and in fact they brushed against it ever so slightly. Until suddenly the younger began to press light, butterfly kisses to it, causing the prince's breath to hitch harshly; a certain but familiar feeling of blood rushing to his nether regions. Fuck, how the hell can Paul turn me on so much-

Before John could process anything, the kisses from Paul's cherry red lips slowly began to move higher and higher, up to his jawline to his cheek, to the tip of his nose-

"John Winston Lennon!" A harsh voice yelled from a few metres away 

"Wh-what the fuck??" The boy in question lifted his head in utter shock. What the fuck now? Jesus christ! Can anything go my way, just for fucking once? Paul immediately leapt off of him, standing up and cowering in fear as he spotted who was standing there. John stood up quickly as well, standing slightly in front of Paul when he spotted who it was.

"Mimi? What the hell?"

"John, get back inside right now!" The woman was standing at the top of the hill with a large umbrella protecting her from the rain, looking absolutely furious. "What are you doing with this common rat on our property?! Get him away!" 

"Hey! What the fuck-" John started, fury beginning to boil in his blood, but suddenly Paul darted out from behind John and away from both of them. "Paul!" He started, beginning to run after him, before turning to Mimi, anger building up inside of him, about to burst from the seams and cascade in a fit of rage.

The angry woman began to berate him. "You are not permitted to have those people here, John! I am so sick and tired of you running away from your responsibilities. I can't have you running around with common boys for the rest of your life, I'm putting a stop to it right now! No more! You're not a child anymore-"

"Fuck off Mimi!" John screamed furiously.

"What did you say to me?!"

"I said, fuck off!" His voice cracked with rage-filled acrimony and with that, he sprinted away, running as fast as he could the way in which Paul went; ignoring every call of fury from Mimi. The only thing he could focus on is Paul. 

"Paul! Paul!" He yelled into the rain, his voice drowned out slightly by the thunder. As he jumped over the fence of the manor, he spotted the younger, dashing down the street, shoulders and head hunched from the rain. 

"Paul! Please!" The prince screamed after him, bounding as fast as he could to catch up with the distressed boy. Eventually, they left the rich area of the city and Paul disappeared into the forest by Paul's house; John was about to give up trying to run after him, until the younger stopped abruptly and fell to his knees on the dirt, back heaving with the amount of breaths he had to drag into his lungs due to the amount of exercise he just did. "Paul! Paul-" 

"John.." Paul stood up quickly when John finally caught up to the other, whipping around to face him. 

"Macca?" John's voice had quietened considerably, silence following his question as they stood there in the pouring rain, eyes locked in a trance. Nothing entered either of their minds other than each other, the younger slowly inching closer and closer to John. 

"Y... I can't.." Paul turned away, beginning to pace fervently, running a hand anxiously through his unkempt, soaked hair. "You're... you're about to get married, y'know? I can't- I-" He was half mumbling to himself, an incredulous chuckle following his words. 

"Paul.. what are ye talking about?" John reached and put a hand onto the younger's shoulder comfortingly.

"Fuck it-" 

And suddenly, a pair of lips collided with his.

A muffled noise escaped John's lips and he stood there in utter shock, Paul's hands gripping onto his back tightly before he pulled away, eyes wide and lips parted slightly.   
He was giving John time to run away, to never talk to him again - but to hell with that. 

The prince immediately dived back in, connecting their lips with a sharp inhale, wrapping his arms around Paul and pulling him flush against his own body. Their lips moulded together so perfectly, every sense of John's electrified, hairs standing on edge, skin pretty much melting off his bones and becoming a pile of goo in Paul's grasp, who was now reaching and carding a hand through John's tangled hair.   
Paul began to back John up against a tree, a groan escaping both their mouths when the prince's back collided with it. Their lips parted for just a moment for them to suck in a breath before going back at it, every emotion felt towards each other finally spilling out in one go like a waterfall, not being able to pull away from each other's grasp for even a millisecond. John's body was so alive with need and want, every fibre of his being aching terribly with it, and he gripped onto the younger tighter, basically falling onto his arse - Paul crawled into his lap and straddled his hips tightly, their lips not breaking contact whatsoever as John reached a cold hand under Paul's shirt, gripping at the younger's flexing back muscles. Shaky fingers fumbling at each other’s shirts and ripping them off, slicked chests rubbing against each other, the friction enough to make them totally forget about the freezing rain. They needed each other desperately in that moment, anything to be closer to each other.

Suddenly, Paul ground down hard on the auburn-haired boy's groin with his own, and a long whine escaped his mouth, blood immediately rushing to his dick and beginning a tight tent against his trousers.

"Fuck, Macca- uh!" John moaned wantonly, the younger quickly attaching his lips to his pale neck and mouthing at it. Succulent pleasure shot up John’s spine and he threw his head back against the trunk of the tree, eyes shut tightly as Paul continued to grind against him. 

“God, Johnny.. love you..” Paul quickly attached their lips together again as John fiddled with the doe-eyed boy’s pants, dipping a hand inside and gripping onto his hard length, giving it a tentative tug. “John!” Paul grunted, back arching with pleasure at the touch and throwing his head back, lips parted and eyes shut tightly in the building pressure. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful-“ John pressed fervent kisses onto the younger’s chest with conviction, pumping the other’s dick faster and faster; Paul hissed out a whine and gripped onto John’s hips so tight they would leave bruises, burying his head into the other’s neck, panting against the prince’s bare skin. 

Quickly fumbling with John’s belt, the younger tugged his restrictive pants down as far as he could without John having to get up, his aching erection springing free before the other grabbed onto it, expert hand tugging at it quickly. Stars exploded in John’s vision at the feeling, and to suppress his loud moans he smashed his lips back against Paul’s, grunting and panting into the kisses as they jerked each other off. John was reduced to a babbling mess as Paul ran the pad of his thumb over the tip, which was beginning to leak with precum. 

“God, fuck, fuck shit, fuck-“ The older huffed and bit down onto the younger’s lip, causing it to bleed slightly. “Paul..” His voice was husky and hoarse, and Paul moaned at that, whacking John’s hand away from the younger’s dick and grabbing both at the same time, rubbing them against each other as he pumped faster and faster, kisses growing sloppy as they neared their climax.

“Uh- John! John, John, John, fuck, Johnny-“ Paul chanted his name over and over again, body beginning to convulse, writhing under his own hand, more precum spilling from the tips and slicking his hand and their dicks wet.   
John dug his nails and dragged them down the younger’s back harshly, connecting their lips again, incessant whines escaping as their climax grew closer. It was almost too much for them both, every skin cell alive with pleasure and the need for contact, feeling every inch of each other’s skin, John peppering kisses everywhere onto Paul’s chest, licking a stripe from his stomach to his collarbone, causing the other to moan loudly and bury his head in the older’s shoulder.

“God, ‘m close!” John grunted into Paul’s chest, bodies moving rhythmically in time to the younger’s pumping hand, not being able to do anything else than turn to goo in the other’s grasp. 

“Me too- uh!” The pressure was building more and more, pleasure shooting through every part of their body. They couldn’t be any closer psychically at that point; but they continued to claw at each other to try and get as close as possible.   
Everything for the older was just Paul, Paul, Paul, Paul, Paul- 

Suddenly, with a cry John came into Paul’s hand, cum spilling from his dick and splattering onto their chests and across the younger’s hand. With one final, weak tug, Paul bit into John’s shoulder harshly as he came shortly after, their cum mixing together in the mess. 

Panting breaths followed, both overstimulated almost as they sat there, pure bliss blanketing them like the comfort of a mother. 

“That was.. oh my god.” John huffed eventually, head resting against the tree, attempting to catch his breath.

“Quite.” Eventually, Paul reached to wipe the mess away and using a rag (which was soaked from the rain) to clean up, tucking themselves away.

“I.. can’t believe this fuckin’ happened.” John grinned lazily up at Paul, who suddenly burst into laughter, head resting against the older’s chest, his own chest heaving with the effort of laughing. “What?” John stared at him in shock. 

“Sorry, sorry-“ He snorted before bursting into laughter again, wrapping his arms around John’s bare waist. “It’s so surreal... ye have no idea how long I’ve secretly wanted ta do that.” 

“Same here.” John grinned even wider. “Jesus, it feels so fucking amazin’ knowin’ I can do this-“ He grabbed onto the sides of Paul’s face and connected their lips again, both smiling into it before they fell onto the ground below, peppering kisses onto each other, anywhere they could reach.

“Fuck, yer so fuckin’ pretty!” Paul giggled into John’s shoulder, reaching and peppering kisses everywhere onto the older’s face, who protested half-heartedly, running his hands up and down Paul’s back before gripping his full arse and squeezing tightly. “Oi!” Paul pulled away in shock and slapped a giggling John’s hands away from it with a playful glare.

Both burst into raucous laughter once again, giggling like schoolgirls into each other’s mouths, wrapped up in pure joy and each other’s embrace - it was all John needed in that moment. Just Paul. Everything Paul. 

“Fuck, it’s cold, I jus’ noticed-“ John slowly sat up, Paul still sitting in his lap, hugging tightly. Both picked up their soggy, dirty shirts and slipped them on, grimacing at the disgusting feeling, before John picked up his soaked coat. He noticed Paul shivering slightly and immediately slipped it around the other’s shoulders, both smiling shyly at each other before standing up and dusting themselves. 

“I think.. there’s a warm bed with a cosy fireplace awaiting us.” John grinned widely, pulling Paul into another long kiss, both grinning and giggling at each other.

After that, they both ran back to the manor in the rain, laughing and dancing around all the while, not giving a single fuck when they saw people staring at them through their windows; sneaking back into the manor through the servant’s entrance and to John’s room, giggling and whispering sweet nothings all the while. They couldn’t keep their hands off of each other whatsoever the entire time, kissing each other every five seconds wherever they could. They got changed into some warmer clothes, John’s fitting Paul almost perfectly (the sleeves just a little bit too long though) - John put on the fireplace, warming the entire room nicely before they fell into bed together. And that was how they fell asleep, tangled in each other’s arms, free of any worry in the world.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gUYSSSS GUUS GUYS GUSY IT  
IT FUCKING HAPPENED OH  
MY GOD ITT HAPLEND   
DNTNFNSKJNFNS I RLY ELY  
HOPE U GUYS ENJOYED THIS  
ONE OMGGGG THEUBFIFFNF  
BEUH I SQUEALED AND   
FANGIRLED SONMUCH   
WRITING THIS CHAPTER IT WAS  
ALMOST TOO HARD TO   
WRITE HOLY SHIT I KEPT   
GETTING DISTRACTED THINKING  
ABOUT HOW THE REST OF THE   
CHAPTER AND FIC WOULDNGO  
I KEPT STOPPNG WRITING AAAA  
ANYWAYSBBDND ok im calming   
down a bit. HOLYY SHIT WHAT   
A WAIT AM I RIGHT GUYS hope  
yall felt it was worth it😔😔  
THANK U GUYS FOR THE SUPPORT N  
COMMENTS OMFGNFNFNTNS   
AAAAHH IT MEANS SO MUCH TO  
MEEEEE💖💓💞💗💕🥺🥺🥺  
HOPE YALL ENJOYED THISSS  
OK OK I MUST SLEEP KTS 4:11  
AM OMFGNDNFNDSNSNAAA  
SCREAMIFF ok OK OK   
SHUTTING UP BYE I LOVE  
AND APPRECIAWTE EVERY   
SINGLE ONE OF U <33333333


	24. twenty three.

april 1859 

"Fuck!"   
This was the first thing that John could register in the morning. The bright sun spilled through the curtained windows, causing the prince to groan and bury his head further into the thick head of hair in front of him.

"John! Wake up, git!" A familiar voice hissed in his ear, hand shaking his shoulder slightly, causing the boy in question to slowly open his eyes, blinking hazily as his vision adjusted to the light.  
Paul was sitting up next to him in bed, trying to wake him while looking dishevelled, hickeys dark against the pale skin of his neck and chest ( a sight John could absolutely get used to), but distressed.

"Whazzit? C'back 'ere, love..." John slurred with a husky voice and pulled the younger back into his arms, relishing the feeling of wrapping his arms around the sable-haired boy's stomach, wanting nothing more than to just be wrapped up in each other's arms for a little while longer, inhaling deeply Paul's comforting scent of vanilla and rosemary as sleep began to take its hold on the older again. 

"John! I can't- I fuckin' forgot about me curfew!" Paul pulled away from his touch again to leap out of bed, dashing all over the place to collect his things as quickly as possible. "I stayed the bloody night here with ye, da's literally gonna cut me 'ead off!" 

John watched him with half-lidded eyes from the bed, sleepiness still tugging on the ends of his vision but slowly beginning to wake up more. He grabbed his round-shaped glasses off of his bedside table and slipped them on, vision focussing fully and everything coming into view with much higher definition. 

"Ah, fuck.. forgot 'bout tha'." John coughed slightly and reached to light up his pipe, taking a long puff. "Ya gonna go?" His heart sunk slightly at that. He wished they could just stay like this forever, curled up together in bed. He hoped secretly that Paul wouldn't leave..

"Johnny.." Paul turned around to look at him sadly before moving to sit on the bed beside him. He interlaced their fingers and squeezed the older's hand. "m sorry. I wouldn't leave if I could.. I have ta go." He gazed at him with a warm smile before leaning to connect their lips briefly, John reaching up to card his hand through Paul's dishevelled hair. Pulling away with a sigh, the older rested his hands on the younger's thighs comfortably.

"Alright. Wear me clothes, yers are too wet, still. Say that ye had ta get changed 'cause of the rain. I'll come by tonight with 'em dry, yeah?" John gazed up at his (boyfriend? shit, they hadn't talked about it yet) with a lopsided smile, which quickly faded at his thoughts. How will I ask him? Does Paul want to be in an actual relationship with me? I know I do.. what is Paul just wants a quick fuck every now and then and doesn't actually want to be with me? 

"Yeah, but- how 'm I gonna sneak ye in?" Paul asked worriedly, slipping on one of John's thick, warm, dry coats. John hadn't noticed that the doe-eyed boy had gotten up. "I know 'm gonna be grounded fer a bloody month, I won't be able ta go to me audition! Fuck." He clutched at his hair with a hiss of annoyance.

"Macca, love, hey! Baby, hey.." John sat up quickly, before getting out of bed and coming to pull the younger into a hug, who buried his head in his shoulder. "We'll figure it out. We'll find a way to sneak about, yeah? An' I'll make sure ta get ye to that audition, hm?" He lifted Paul's head with a raise of an eyebrow, gazing down at him kindly. Paul stared up at him for a few seconds before nodding, relaxing with a growing grin as they connected their lips again, holding each other close before giggling into each other's mouths. The younger gazed up at him with delight with a small smile (fuck, he's so fucking cute how does he do that was what was travelling through John's mind at that moment) and affectionately pecked him on the nose and cheek. 

"Thanks, Johnny." They fell comfortably back into the hug again, John pressing occasional kisses to Paul's head of hair before burying his head into it, breathing in Paul's intoxicating scent once again with a large grin. 

But, of course, the time for Paul to leave had to come, and they pulled away from their hug and John escorted him out of the manor, sneaking through secret hallways to hide from sight and going out the back garden and up to the side fence. Gazing at each other sadly, Paul quickly glanced around them before pulling John into one last brief kiss, the older inhaling sharply before wrapping his arms around him, sighing when they parted.

"Remember, 'm comin' by tonight. Is that okay?" John reached to graze his hand across the younger's cheek, gazing at him with a fond expression. 

"Yeah, 'course. See ye then, love." Paul grinned back at him before pulling from his grasp, turning to get a run up on the wall and jump up onto it, pulling himself up to the top. John felt an overwhelming urge to keep the younger with him, even if it was just for a few seconds longer - wanted to kiss him one last time. Seeing Paul leave made his heart ache so much.

"Paul, wait!-" John ran up to the wall and grabbed onto the younger's arm. Paul looked down at him in shock before jumping back over the wall onto John's side, staring at him in slight confusion.

"Yeah? Wh-"

His words were cut off when John pulled him fervently into a kiss, hands coming up to the side of the doe-eyed boy's cheeks. Paul's breath hitched, but he melted into it after a second of surprise, pulling the prince flush against him before John pulled away to press kisses all over his face and neck, heart soaring when Paul dissolved into embarrassed giggles.

"John! John, I gotta go-" Paul spoke through breathless laughter, halfheartedly attempting to push the older away by putting his hands on his chest, but instead he just reached up to wrap them around his neck. 

"Mmm, not yet-" He continued to pepper kisses all across Paul's face; on his nose, forehead, eyelids, cheeks, lips, chin, jaw - the younger feebly protested but secretly, was enjoying it.

"I know, but- really, I gotta go, love!" Paul gently pushed the prince's face away with an apologetic expression. He pressed one last brief kiss to the other's lips before pulling away from his embrace. "I'll still see ye tonight. Yeah?"

"Alright, alright." John held his hands up in surrender, before watching his friend jump back onto the fence, slipping slightly on the damp concrete. "Bye, Macca!" He called with a wave and a grin.

"Bye! See ya tonight!" Paul grinned back and playfully blew a kiss, which John caught with a flair of stupidity and a spastic grin, causing the younger to giggle at the older's antics before promptly leaping over the fence to the other side and disappearing out of sight. 

Once Paul was gone, the prince sighed to himself, uncontrollably grinning and leaning against the fence with a love-filled sigh. Fuck.. Paul likes me back. I still can't bloody believe it. Paul's scent still lingered slightly on the older's clothes, and he breathed it in to comfort himself before turning to make his way back inside. 

He had to face Mimi and her wrath now.. 

✧✧✧✧✧

"Psst.. Mike!" Paul peeked through the window into their one bedroom, glad when he spotted his brother sitting on his mattress, furiously trying to sew up the torn knee of his trousers but failing terribly. The doe-eyed boy had just come back from John's manor and he was hoping to avoid the impending doom he was about to face from his father. Mike looked up in shock and spotted Paul there, before standing up, coming over to the window. 

"Paul? What the hell, ye were meant to come home yesterday! Da's fuckin' furious, mate!" Mike crossed his arms irritably at his brother.

"I know, I know- is 'e here? How do I avoid 'im?" Paul glanced around them anxiously, as if Jim would burst out of the closet out of nowhere and cut his head off. 

"Paul, there isn't any way. Yer gonna have ta face 'im at some point, y'know. Jus' do it now an' get it over with before it gets any worse." Mike raised an eyebrow, giving him a look of 'cut the bullshit'. He was right, of course. Paul hated that he was right, and the older sighed, before crawling through the window, shutting it after him.

"Yeah.. I know. 'm gonna fuckin' die."

"I'll host yer funeral!" 

"Fuck off." Paul shoved his snickering brother half-heartedly before making his way through and out the bedroom. "Wish me luck."

"Break a leg. Yer definitely going to."

"Yep-" Paul shut the door slowly, clutching onto the doorknob tightly, attempting to psych himself up to face the wrath of his father. "C'mon Paul.. do it. Ye can do it. Not a big deal. Yeah." He chanted to himself as he made his way down the hallway, as slowly as possible, before entering the kitchen, eyes shut tightly. 

Opening them, there Jim was, tea in hand, smoking a pipe in the other, a worn book lying closed on the table, eyes staring out the window next to the table that overlooked the front porch. Paul wrung his hands over and over behind his back before coming into full view, head hanging and shoulders hunched. Fuck, here goes- 

“James.” Jim greeted him without looking at him, instead just continuing to stare out the window, taking another long puff of his pipe. 

“Da’-“

“No, don’t speak.” He held up a hand, before gesturing for Paul to sit across from him, which he did so diligently, staring at his lap while picking nervously at his nails. Turning to look at him, Jim began his tirade. “Ye continue- to disappoint me, James. Ye can’t even follow some simples rules I place fer more than two days.” His face was taut with anger, voice surprisingly steady and calm, and he sighed irritably, taking another puff of his pipe. This type of anger scared Paul more than yelling. “It wasn’t that hard, I wasn’t askin’ tha’ much from ye. I coulda done much worse like most parents, but I was very lenient with ya. I put me trust in ye ta do the right thing. That was a mistake, unfortunately. ‘m puttin’ me foot down.” He pointed a finger at Paul. “Yer grounded fer a month. Ye have ta stay here an’ focus on doin’ housework, cookin’, cleanin’ an’ such, work on the farm, help out. Friends can only visit twice a week an’ ye can’t go anywhere with them. Got it?”

Paul wanted to scream “I’m almost 17!” But he knew that wouldn’t help whatsoever, so he shut his mouth and just nodded. “Yes, da’.” 

“Good. Do what I ask of ye- if ye can’t even do that- I don’t even know what ta do there. Jus’- do what I ask fer once, James. I’m not gonna do anythin’ worse than what I’m askin’, which ain’t that much, because we need ya helpin’ out on the farm an’ such an’ help chop wood. An’ I can’t keep ye from seein’ yer friends. Yer almost 17, yer allowed ta have fun before ye have to settle down with a proper job an’ get yer own place- I can’t stop ye from that. It’s not right.” 

Paul nodded fervently with a small smile. The punishment wasn’t even that bad. He said exactly what I was thinking.   
“Yes, da’- I understand. I’ll do me best ta do what ye ask of me.” (Not really, as he was definitely going to sneak out to see John) 

“Thank ye, son. I’m sorry I had ta do this, but ye know it’s fer yer own good. Ye need ta be more responsible, alright? Set a good example fer Mike too.” Jim patted his son on the shoulder, before sipping the last of his tea and standing up.

“Yeah, I promise.” 

✧✧✧✧✧

“Ah, John. Sit, please.” Mimi gestured to the sofa across from her.   
John had finally worked up the courage to face his aunt and receive whatever punishment from her for his actions; he was absolutely terrified of what was going to happen, but that was expected. 

He entered the greeting room, fiddling anxiously with his sleeves as he braced himself for what was going to happen - once he entered, he saw that the woman was sitting perched neatly on the velvet sofa, saucer in one hand and teacup in other, pinky stretched out delicately as she took one last polite sip of her tea before placing it down quietly on the coffee table in front of her. On John’s side of the coffee table was a teacup of his own, the tea inside still steaming hot, but he felt so queasy that he probably wouldn’t even be able to stomach it. 

As silently as possible, the only sound in the room being John’s small footsteps as he came to slowly sit down on the sofa across from the queen, hands held tightly together on his lap to keep from fidgeting. His anxiety was through the roof at that point, and he struggled to keep calm as he reached a shaky hand to pick up his tea and give a polite sip just so he could focus on something else other than Mimi. Fuck, Paul, I wish you were here right now. 

The silence was so overbearing in that room; the air so thick and tense that it felt like John was six feet deep in water, the weight closing all around him and pushing him further and further into the depths. It was horrible, and John wanted to just run out of that room and away from his entire life at that moment. 

“So, John.” Mimi began. God I’m so screwed. John desperately wanted to speak, wanted to explain himself - but he knew it was no use at all. It was better to just let the queen speak until she was done, unless he wanted to be disemboweled. 

“What you said to me yesterday, when you were with that.. boy,” She folded her hands in her lap, continuing to stare at the coffee table, unreadable expression on her face. “Was absolutely unacceptable. We do not swear at anyone like that, or at all for that matter. It is vulgar language, meant for the sailors at sea - not for educated people like us. I am sick and tired of the way you have been acting for the past months; years, in fact. Running off with your friends, especially that Richard and that common boy George every other day, and whoever that other boy you were with the other day, neglecting your studies and responsibilities. I’m putting a stop to it. You have to face reality, John.” She turned to look at him with an intense stare.   
“You are about to be the king of Liverpool. You are not one of the lowly common boys that you somehow want to be for some reason, you are an educated, high class person. You have to associate with such people, not people many classes below you, who cannot even read.” She spoke those words with such conviction, such negative emotion behind the way she spoke about the lower class that it made John’s blood boil. How dare she talk about his friends like that? “There already has been rumours in the newspapers, people talk, you know.” She took another sip of her tea, her voice slowly rising in volume as she continued to talk. 

“Prince John Lennon spotted at local pub associating and mingling with common people!” She stood up and grabbed some nearby newspapers and shoved them into John’s grasp, turning to pace the room, “John Lennon, prince of Liverpool, running and frolicking in the rain with a boy many classes lower than him? Is this the future of our city?” 

Staring in utter shock at the many newspapers in his grasp, they did indeed have those words written on the front cover of them; John had been horribly, horribly reckless - even more of them as he shuffled through the papers were talking about the possibility of him being a homosexual and having an intimate relationship with these common boys he was associating with. Fuck oh my god fuck oh god. No one can know, if they find out they literally will hang me oh my god- He threw them back onto the coffee table, violently shaking hands running through his hair as his heart beat incredibly fast, fear and horror bubbling up in his chest and threatening to take hold of his mind. 

I’m putting myself and everyone in danger. Paul. Oh my god, Paul- I’m putting him in danger. George too, and Ringo. They could be found out and fucking murdered. Oh my fucking god. 

She turned to face him with an enraged expression. “Did you think you would get off scot-free, that you could run around with your friends, no responsibilities, forever? Some of those are extorting the truth, trying to make up rumours about your possible homosexuality which isn’t true at all- (they were actually very right, but John wouldn’t let Mimi know that ever) but that doesn’t change anything. You’re ruining our reputation! You cannot do this anymore, John. You’re going to ruin everything. You have to stop this right now, this instant.”   
She stared down at him in fury. 

“You cannot see George anymore. Or Ringo. Or that Paul boy you were with- none of them.”

“Mimi! I-“ John started, voice hoarse as tears began to well. He couldn’t believe he had dug himself such a giant hole.

“No! You have to focus on your responsibilities. This is your life, John. You have to build up your reputation, refute those silly rumours, so we can put this behind us. You’re an adult now, almost 19. Your time of running around with vermin is over. You can never see them again- you are about to be married in less than a year and you will become king with Cynthia shortly after. That is your life now. You have to face it.” She continued to berate him heatedly. 

When John didn’t reply, she started again.

“Tomorrow night at eight o’ clock we have guests coming over for dinner and staying the night, you must be on your best behaviour. Show yourself off and Cynthia too. We have more planned this week, Cynthia’s parents are coming too. Proper preparations for the wedding must begin now, we do not have much time left.” She placed her hands behind her back. “Now, please go choose your best suit to wear when they come, and have a bath, please. You look filthy. I will see you tonight for dinner.” She stood there for a few more seconds, but when John continued to stay silent, she turned on her heel and left the room, leaving behind a strong stench of expensive perfumes. 

John hissed out a breath and left the excruciatingly stuffy room and stumbled to his room, trying not to let panic overwhelm his mind as it struggled to take in all the information that it had just been given. 

I can’t see George anymore. Or Ringo. I can’t go out with them, I can’t go to pubs anymore- I can’t be with my real friends. I can’t.. I can’t see Paul. I was so careless, I put everyone in danger. I fucking put Paul in danger. What if people look into it and find out? What will they do? Fuck, oh my god- I put everyone in fucking danger, I’m risking their lives just because of my horrible careless self. I’m a horrible, horrible person. I’m so fucking terrible. I don’t deserve Paul. I don’t deserve anyone.. I can’t do anything right. Mimi’s right to be mad at me. I’m so horrible. Why couldn’t have I just grown up like Mimi wanted me to, stayed in my fucking lane and been a normal person? Why did I have to get attracted to Paul? Why did I have to put him at fucking risk just so I can have a bit of fun and feel like a regular person for a few hours?

A gut-wrenching scream ripped from his throat and he punched his wall with all the strength he could muster. So strongly, in fact, that he punched a hole right through it, bloodying his knuckles in the process. He let out a sob as the tears welled uncontrollably, so many emotions coursing through him in that moment that he couldn’t hold it in anymore. He fell against the wall with a sharp inhale, sinking to the floor by his bed as the tears streaked down his face, broken, muffed sobs echoing through the hallway as he shoved his head into his hands, clutching at his hair so tightly that his knuckles turned white and he ripped a few out. His head pounded horribly as he cried, knuckles stinging and smearing blood on his clothes and face, teeth clenched so tightly they ached. 

I can’t see Paul anymore. I can’t put him in any danger at all. I can’t do it. I’m not putting him in danger anymore. I have to face facts. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO GAMERS OMG hope u enjoy this chapter,,, sorry sorry i ended up being rly sad omg )): poor johnny n paul aahggg how do u think theyre gonna prevail through this? aaaah anyways hope u enjoyed this chapter ,,, new one gonna b out soon ,, thanks for readin, leave feedback etc !! i love u guys sm sorry for the sad chap )): byeee <333 pls dont hate me


	25. twenty four.

april 1859

A soft humming filled the dewy spring night air. The moon hung high in the sky that night, unusually bright and washing everything in view with a white-bluish tint; Paul had snuck out the window of the one bedroom they had, not wanting his father or brother to catch him meeting John, and he was lying on the crisp, cool grass next to the house, hands resting comfortably in his lap, excitedly fidgeting with one another. His eyes were half-lidded as he hummed a tune John and Paul had practised together at John's place to himself, elongated eyelashes brushing against the top of his flushed cheeks.

A heavy, warm breeze caressed his skin, the blades of grass brushing up against his arms causing them to itch slightly. Excitement and nervousness was coursing through his veins at the prospect of meeting up with John, heart pumping fast and causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end. He had been waiting for about twenty minutes now, just listening to the distant sounds of crickets and animals rustling in the night, everything else dead silent in that moment, pretty much the entire city of Liverpool fast asleep in their homes. They would meet up here then hang out in the warmth of the barn house for the night so the older wouldn't be caught by Jim. John was a little late, but Paul didn't mind - he knew that the prince might struggle to sneak out unseen as guards were posted outside the house, or the servants or maids could catch him.

He just hoped that John would come at all. The more seconds that dragged by, the more nervous the younger became, getting more and more worried by the moment. What if John doesn't come at all? What if he forgot? Maybe something happened to him? The thoughts were running rampant in his mind, and he quickly sat up, moving to lean against the side of the house, resting his head just under the half open window he came out of. The doe-eyed boy's bare foot tapped impatiently against the ground. Anxiety began to take its holds as Paul grew more and more worried about his absence. 

He's not usually this damn late. It's been almost half an hour.

He pulled nervously on the ends of his trousers before scanning the street for any sign of the prince, jumping up with a grin when he spotted something rustling in the bushes by the house opposite his, but faltering when it was just a sparrow, pecking at something on the ground before flying away. Alas, nothing.

He grew more and more anxious as more excruciating minutes went by, still no sign of the other boy; at this point, Paul grew increasingly doubtful that the prince would come at all. His throat closed up tightly as unwanted emotions began to stir in his chest, bubbling up to his throat, ready to spill and cascade from his eyes in the form of bitter tears. Did John forget to come? Did he get caught up in something else? Did something stop him from coming? He just hoped nothing bad had happened to his friend.   
There were so many unanswered questions he was begging to ask, and he grew increasingly more desperate, standing up and running out onto the street, glancing around frantically for any sign of him whatsoever. 

"John! John- are you here?" He called out into the silence of the night, running down the street and glancing all around him in futile attempts to find John. He made it to the end of his street with no luck, and the realisation struck him - John wasn't coming. He was never this late, unless something had happened. The feelings of dejection, bitterness, and hurt mixed dangerously within his body, creating a gigantic shit storm and threatening to burst once again as the dismayed boy made his way back to his house. Was John bored of him already? Just a pretty boy to mess around with for a few days before moving onto the next? He had heard his friends sometimes talk of the boys he had been with, their relationships never lasting very long. Was Paul just one of those boys to him? 

Slowly sitting back down on the grass, the boy rested against the brick wall of the house, eyes shutting tight to prevent the tears from forming in them. He still clung onto the tiniest bit of hope, that maybe John was just late, maybe he got caught by Mimi or something. She did seem extremely angry with him that day at his place in the rain. He still remembered the terror he felt then; the need to just run from the situation as fast as he could. She might have prevented him from coming. 

But still - it didn't stop the thoughts of John having gotten bored of him. Tossing him away like an old toy, ready to move onto the shiny new version of Paul. 

The thought was too much for the young boy, and he crawled through the window back inside, curling in tight on himself once he made it to his bed and shutting his eyes, just focusing on the distant noises of the night and his father and brother's deep breathing, the feel of the uncomfortable mattress below him, the warm air caressing his skin gently, to ground himself. His heart ached terribly, a dismal feeling washing over him like being submerged in water.

I wish you were here, mum.

✧✧✧✧✧

"Ah! Mr and Mrs Powell, welcome, welcome." John's grin was wide and extremely faked, eyebrows raised as he held out a hand in greeting, shaking his father-in-law's hand and pressing a kiss to the back of his mother-in-law's hand afterwards. The smile never broke as they were brought inside the warm, brightly-lit manor, Cynthia standing beside him, looking prim and proper as ever, a smile as fake as John's present on her own. Mimi stood on the other side of the double doors that were being held open by guards with a polite smile, ushering a servant over [it turned out to be George] to begin to take their guest's coats from them. Behind Cynthia's parents were about eight more people, all chattering amongst themselves as they made their way up the gigantic marble steps, the two giant carriages that had taken them to the manor standing tall in the distance, on the other side of the now closed gates. 

The guests had just arrived for the dinner, bedrooms prepared and everything prepped and spotless for them. John was wearing a rich, silk green suit, tailored perfectly to his form to accentuate and tuck away all the right places, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He was absolutely not feeling up to dealing with rich assholes, but he knew there was no escaping. He had to deal with it. The only thing that was running through his mind was Paul at the moment. Every movement made and word spoken was autopilot, practised manoeuvres that he knew off by heart. 

"Mr Phelps! Mrs Phelps, greetings." John greeted the next pair of people, helping them inside. "Such a delightful coat, Mrs Phelps!" It always helped to throw in compliments every now and then to keep them happy. Her brown coat was overly large, fluffy, and made of real fur, he supposed.

"Oh, why thank you, Mr. Lennon. Designer." The woman blushed slightly and smiled at the young boy, before turning to chat to Mimi, the two people absentmindedly taking off their extremely expensive overcoats and tossing them towards George, who was beginning to struggle with carrying the gigantic coats that were too much for the lanky boy. John watched him with a sympathetic tug on his heart, but he could do nothing to help or else he would be caught being friends with a 'common boy'; instead George had to call out for another servant, this one John not recognising as he came out from the front parlour (it was having last minute touches being done on it) and he took some of the coats off of the dark-eyed boy. 

"Good evening, Mr and Mrs Best.. master Best." John forced his eyes off of his friend to pay attention to the other guests, the three following after Mr and Mrs Phelps, one of them being one of John's airhead friends, Pete Best. More like Pete fucking Worst. Irritation rose threateningly in his throat, but he swallowed it down and gave him a smile, gesturing them inside.

"Hello, John. How's it going? Anything interesting happen?" Pete smirked at him, before winking at Cynthia, who stared at him with a slightly disgusted expression. "Hi." 

"Oh, fine, of course. Preparing for the wedding and all. Nothing too strenuous." He faked another chuckle, the three of them sharing a moment of awkward laughter before he turned to attend to the other guests. Pete's antagonising presence behind John was driving the prince mad, knowing that the question of 'so, John, what's with the papers and them saying you're a homosexual and you were spotted running around with common boys, huh?' was resting on the tip of the younger man's tongue. 

"Mr and Mrs Shotton! Greetings. Hello, master Shotton." He greeted the last three guests, bringing them inside before the doors were shut behind them, closing them off from the outside world with a final bang. The other Pete gave him a smile and a nod before their coats were taken too, George and the other servant taking them away to the coatroom; not without the sharp-cheekboned boy giving him a warm smile before leaving, John returning it with just as much warmth. It eased the anxiety within him a little, feeling as if he could breathe just a little bit more knowing that he had George to count on if things got hard for him to deal with.

Fuck, I need to tell George what's been happening. Keeping that thought in the back of his mind to remember later, he turned back to the guests, clapping his hands together and faking another smile, reaching to put a hand behind Cynthia's back, the girl leaning into his touch comfortingly.

"So! How was your trip. Served you all well, I hope? The weather was pleasant?" Glancing quickly to the window, he saw the sun beginning to set, the sky a mix of purples, oranges and yellows, mixing beautifully together. I'm supposed to meet Paul in a few hours after this. Fuck, I can't see him. I can't put him in any more danger by seeing him.

"Oh, just splendid! Your carriages are quite comfortable!" Mr Shotton answered with a nod and a smile, shaking John's hand firmly. The prince tried to keep his composure and faked another smile, heart aching at the thought of Paul being all alone.

"Lovely. Now, if you would just come with me.." He gestured for the group to follow him to the parlour, across the sleek marbled floor of the front landing. The parlour was large, lit up by chandeliers and many oil lamps, a large, roaring fireplace on one end and a bookshelf on the other. Two velvet couches faced each other with a coffee table in between, two large armchairs on the left of it, facing the fireplace. The mantelpiece had many expensive items displayed on it, and the walls had paintings of the family with golden frames hanging from them. One, bigger than the others, displayed a stern-looking Mimi, dressed in her finest clothes with her crown placed upon her head, just like it was now, hanging above the fireplace. It showed that Mimi, figuratively and literally, domineered the Smith manor. 

"What a lovely parlour. Is this genuine gold?" Mrs Best inquired, gesturing to the golden borders of the painting in awe. 

"Oh, yes, of course." Mimi began to chatter away to the woman about the quality, John's attention turned back to the floor, Paul clawing his way into his mind again and causing his heart to drop. His eyes, large and wide like a deer with drooping eyelids, thick, dark eyelashes, coloured a lovely rich green with flecks of bronze and brown, ever-changing depending on the light, haunted his vision every time he closed his eyes. He had no idea how Paul and him were gonna get through this. 

"John.." Cynthia cut into his thoughts, resting a hand on his upper arm with a concerned raise of a brow. He turned to look at the girl with shock, before turning to look back at the chattering guests. Right. He was the host of this evening, he had to constantly pay attention and take care of them to keep them happy and comfortable; punishment for his actions. Fuck, I hate this literally so much. 

Faking another smile once again, he put his hands behind his back to hide his fidgeting.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen!" He caught their attention, the guests turning to look at him in curiosity. "Beverages? We have wine, tea, cocktails, champagne.. maybe some appetisers before dinner is ready?" 

"Oh, I'll have a wine, please." Mrs Best spoke. John nodded and called in a servant who was waiting outside by the door to be called on, the man taking all of the guest's orders and bowing before hurrying away. John felt too sick to the stomach to have anything other than water. 

Fuck, here goes. Irritation sparked in his chest as he spotted the two Pete's made their way over to him, Cynthia now having turned away to speak with her parents. 

"Ah, nice suit, John." The blonde one started, nodding slightly. 

"Yes, splendid." The other agreed.

"Thanks. You too. Is that Aguillon?" He gestured to the dark-haired Pete's suit, who nodded absentmindedly. The prince knew they what they really were talking to him for. To find out if the newspaper's rumours were true. 

"Yes.. look, John, we have a question for you." 

Here it comes.

"Yes, uh- go ahead." John felt his heartbeat begin to race, anxiety at the thought of them finding out the truth beginning to bubble up his throat, holding his hands tightly behind his back to prevent fidgeting. Sweat was beginning to build up on his forehead and at the back of his neck, building up more and more as time went on. He hoped to fuck they couldn't notice.

"We were reading the papers, you see.. and we came across some things about you." The blonde Pete put his hands in his pockets before raising his eyebrows at him. Fuck jesus fuck. Play it cool, Lennon.

"Oh? What things were they, exactly?" He feigned obliviousness before turning to greet a couple of servants who came in with their drinks and appetisers, which were usually fine cheeses and meats with bread, and small cakes and cookies, etc. The food and drinks were handed out accordingly, the only people having thanked the servants being John and Cynthia. The servants then dashed from the room. 

"Things like.. you being spotted running around town with common boys." Pete Best's face turned sour, spitting practically venom when he spoke the words 'common boys'. John felt resent build up in his throat and he clenched his jaw slightly, anger rising at the way they spoke about his friends. He managed to keep his composure though, as Best went on. "And you were accused of sodomy. Can you imagine that?" The two Pete's barked out a laugh at that (John followed quickly with a not-so-convincing chuckle), incredulous was the idea that John Lennon, prince of Liverpool was a sodomite. 

"Really? My goodness, what poppycock!" John guffawed - a bit too loudly than was necessary - before taking a shaky sip of his water. "I don't even bother to read the newspapers anymore, they always write such drivel. Obviously they have gone off their rocker with writing that." He laughed incredulously, keeping his hands occupied on his glass to stop them from running nervously through his perfectly styled hair.

"Yes! We are glad to find out that they were wrong. Sorry for interrogating you there, old chap." Blonde Pete smacked him on his shoulder heartily, both their composure growing instantly friendly as they bought John's bullshit completely. 

"Of course, no mind. Always got to root out those sodomites, hm?" He chuckled forcefully again. Those words sounded incredibly foreign to himself, as if someone else had taken hold of his body, forcing him into this role he had been prepped and born into. A puppet on a string, so to speak. He would never say this of his own volition.

"You are right there, John!" The three laughed loudly, one being extremely fake through it; John was instantly glad that Cynthia came over, resting a comforting hand on the middle of his back and smiling at the three.

"What are we discussing here, gentlemen?"

"It is nothing, Cynthia." John waved her off slightly, before turning to see Mimi coming over to them, gesturing for John to come closer. "Oh, excuse me for one moment, would you?" He smiled apologetically at the group before coming over to where Mimi was.

"Yes, mother?" He made sure to call her mother, in case someone overheard. 

"Dinner is prepared. Help the guests to the dining room, please." Mimi spoke to him before turning away to continue speaking to the adults.

"Ah." John prepared himself to have all attention on him again before speaking, lifting up a glass. "Ladies, gentlemen! Dearly sorry to interrupt - dinner is now ready! If you would follow me to the dining room.." They all followed him out of the parlour, across the front landing and into a hallway to the dining room, servants opening up the large door to reveal the even larger room.

Most of the space was filled up by the long, sleek, gigantic wooden table, many lavish chairs propped up to it, the largest ones being on either side of it. The table was covered with a decorative lace tablecloth, plates with cutlery and other accoutrements placed at every seat. The entree meals were sitting in the middle of the table, covered by metal lids, ready to be revealed to the waiting party. There was a row of floor-to-ceiling windows which faced the luscious garden where John and Paul danced only a day before, thick, velvet curtains pulled back to reveal it. The other side of the dining room had another fireplace which was alight and crackling, and more paintings hanging on the wall. In the left hand corner was an open archway which led to the lounge area. 

"Please, take your seats anywhere you like." He gestured to the dining table, used to the looks of awe the guests would display at seeing their extravagant manor and its many rooms. He moved to take a seat at the head of the table, Cynthia on his right and Mimi on his left, the rest of the crowd gathering at that end of the table, taking their seats in their respective places before servants came into the room, two of them being Eppy and and George, expressions blank as they held a hand behind their back, the other reaching to lift the lids off of the food.

"Please, enjoy." Brian spoke, the servants bowing again before disappearing back through the doors, a couple standing at the other end of the room, ready to help with anything. The entree was creamed pumpkin sauteed lightly fried whatever the fuck soup with bread and some other things John didn't really care about. John felt bad for the servants, having to stand there the entire time while they dined on lavish meals and having to attend to every beck and call, not permitted to do anything else. He caught Brian and George's eye, sending them a small smile, which they returned, before going back to the meal. 

Everyone was generally silent while they ate, small talk bouncing off between them all, but John opted to stay away from conversation, just focusing on the food, Paul drifting back into his thoughts. He wondered what the younger was doing right now; was he having dinner with his own family, laughter and happy conversations travelling between them? Maybe John was on his mind, even if for a second? He hoped Paul wouldn't hate him.. 

"John! Have you heard about Evelinge's new fashion line? Checkered pants, it's all the rage now! Everyone's who anyone is wearing them!" Mr Best addressed the prince, large smile on his face, cheeks flushed pink with alcohol (not enough to get tipsy, thank god), and the auburn-haired boy faked a smile at him, nodding before taking a sip of his water.

"Yes, I've heard. Such an interesting design... it's splendid." 

"Right? I remember when I was a child, knee high boots were becoming a fad..."   
John wasn't really listening, the idea of grabbing the fork he was using to eat and stabbing himself in the eye with it being more appealing at the moment. 

Eventually, the party had finished their meals, entree, main and dessert and all, gravitated to the lounge room, and were now playing cards, pleasant but vapid conversation drifting through them all. John opted to stay out of it, sitting comfortably in the corner of the couch, one arm laid comfortably on Cynthia's hip and the other fiddling with a rusting locket, staring down at it with a brooding expression. 

He longed more than anything to see Paul; to feel his lips against his again. Ever since he got a feel for himself that fateful day, he couldn't stop thinking about it. About Paul. Being with him would be so much better than here - he couldn't stand all these conversations about fucking nothing, all so devoid of life and materialistic. Devoid of personality, with a mask of intellect and superiority. They could be so much more; they could be people - but the way they were brought up, the mindsets they kept were stopping them from it. Don't show any fucking compassion for people 'lesser' than you, or really anyone at all except yourself. No one had anything fucking interesting to say, because starting up any real conversation, any debates - that would make room for opinions, and you were all meant to have the exact same opinion in this world. Or else there'd be 'chaos'. Chaos is better than this.

Needing desperately to talk to someone other than a rich airhead, he moved from his position, standing up and dusting himself off politely.

"Well, I am dearly sorry, but I think I should retire, as it is late- I shall see you all tomorrow morning for breakfast." 

"Oh, but- don't you want to play one game of cards? Cynthia has been winning, actually." Dark-haired Pete stared up at him in curiosity, gesturing to the game they had just finished. Cynthia glanced up to look at her fiance, giving him a look of 'just leave; it's bloody boring here' with a small smile.

"No, no, I am quite alright, thank you, Pete. I will be off now; good night. Please, do ask the servants if you need anything." He smiled politely at the guests before making his way as quickly as possible out of the lounge area, closing the door a little loudly with a loud, relieved sigh. 

Outside the door, George and another servant was waiting, obviously been slacking, sitting on the marble floor next to the door and chatting away, the young boy leaping up to go back to his post, but relaxing when he realised it was just John.

"Oi, Geo. Come with me?" John immediately dropped his learned accent, turning to look at his friend, who nodded, turning to the other servant.

"Cover fer me. Get James or someone ta take me place." George waved goodbye before the two boys darted up the stairs to John's room, John flopping onto his stomach on his bed with a loud groan, burying his head in the pillows.

"Fuck, 'm finally free! Jesus, tha' was bloody excruciating!" He rolled over and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes with a huff. George leapt onto the bed beside his best friend, sighing comfortably as he snuggled into the extremely cosy bed. 

"I bet. 'ow'd ya do? Didn't stab either Pete's chest with yer knife?" 

"Fine, I think. Got their mind off th' shit the papers were writin' bout me." 

"Wha'? What've they been writin' 'bout ye?" George lifted his head, looking at him in utter confusion.

"Oh, well uh.. lots of shit has happened in the last two days, man." John chuckled humorlessly, resting his arms behind his head with another sigh. 

"Tell it ta me." George sat up and rested his head in his hands, raising his eyebrows with a small grin.

"Ok, well... me an' Paul, uhh...we-"

"Oh my god."

"What?"

"Did you guys?-" George's eyes lit up with a gigantic grin, and he leapt up with a squeal when John just stared at him in silence. "Oh my god!! Ye did it! You guys are together! My one true pairing!!" He danced (quite frankly, badly) around the room in excitement, chanting; "John and Paul are in looovee, John and Paul are in looove-" 

"Pack it, will ye? Stop!" John half-heartedly kicked out at his friend, turning into a wrestling match as they tussled on the bed, giggling all the while, George squealing and darting away when John kneed him in the stomach. They eventually calmed down after a few seconds of incomprehensible giggling, John growing somber as he remembered the other part of it.

"Well, uh.. it didn't last that long, actually." He then told his best friend about what happened when Paul left, everything that had been in the papers - George listened intently, both eventually sitting up against the headboard as John talked. When he was finished, the prince sighed despondently, leaning to rest his head on the younger's shoulder, George wrapping an arm around John's. "I jus'... dunno what ta do. I can't see him. I can't put 'im in danger anymore. It's too dangerous. Me life is too public."

"....I know." George spoke eventually. "I understand where yer comin' from. But.. d'ye wanna see 'im?"

"Yeah, 'course I do." John looked up in slight shock. "I jus'.. I can't put 'im in danger."

"Ye should see 'im. I know it's gonna be hard ta sneak around all the time, but.. there are ways fer ye to see him. Find ways to hide from sight. People talk all the time, it makes it hard ta go around an' do things people don't agree with, even if ye aren't the prince of Liverpool. Me an' Ringo have learned how ta do it.. it can get tough sometimes, but it's worth it. He's worth it. If ye want ta have a relationship with him, ye need to find any way ye can to be with him. Y'know?" George rested his head against the pillows behind him, lazy smile painting across his face at the mention of Ringo. He turned to gaze at his best friend earnestly. "Ye guys should pursue it. Ye have a good dynamic. I think ye should go fer it, John. Paul's a great guy." 

The prince was silent for a few seconds, the words processing in his mind. I should see him. Apologise and make it up to him. I like Paul so much, I'm not gonna let this go because of a few newspapers. We can be more careful this time, we can find ways to be together through this.

"Yeah. Thanks, Geo. That means so much ta me. Really." John grinned up at his friend warmly, the younger pulling him into a headlock and ruffling his hair, John shoving him away with a laugh. 

"No problem. Now make it up ta Paul, ye bastard."

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OIOI SORRY this came out a little later than intended,, schools started up for me and its been really hard and m struggling a Lot but yknow what fuck it we aint rly doing much anyway just like a few tasks so far. EEEEEEEEEEEEEE hope yall enjoyed this chapter WOOP john is gonna make it up to paulie for being an ass. wooeoeoeo anyways enjoy this chap aahhhh ebkfbkjefjwkjf ur all the best mutherfuckers out there fr oK SHUTTIN UP NOW BYEE<333


	26. twenty five.

april 1859

"Paul! Paul.. let me in!"

John tentatively knocked on the door. He stood on the rickety porch, hands in coat pockets, foot tapping anxiously as he glanced back and forth behind him; he couldn't stand there for much longer without being spotted so he was getting ready to bolt and hide the moment someone saw him. It was stupid - he shouldn't be here in the first place. He should come in the safety of the night where no one would spot him. But he had to talk to Paul, and make it up to him before it was too late. The sun hung low in the sky, but on the east side, the air cool and crisp like it usually is in the early morning. 

John hadn't slept well that night knowing what he had done to Paul, leaving him all alone; what George had said really struck a nerve with him and he knew that he had to make it up to the younger - so he left early in the morning, glad to have not been spotted by anyone except Cynthia, who didn't say anything when she spotted him sneaking out the back of the manor, instead just watching him go, expressionless. God, I'm such an ass sometimes. 

There continued to be no answer at the door, and he grew increasingly anxious standing there out in the open for anyone to see him. He really had to leave before someone caught him and recognised the expensive clothes and the auburn head of hair and glasses - photos of him had been published in the papers pretty much ever since he was born so people knew what he looked like - and dobbed him in to the newspapers or something.

Just as he was turning to leave, though, someone came around the side of the house and spotted him. A fiery red head of hair flashed in the sunlight before he came face to face with a vaguely familiar pale-faced girl.

"Hey! Aren't ye tha' boy that brought Paul home when 'e was drunk?" The girl stared at him in utter shock before growing hostile, stepping in front of him to block him from the half open window that showed the McCartney family's one bedroom. "Wait, yer the fuckin' prince of Liverpool!"

"Yeah, an' what of it? Let me pass." John attempted to push past her but she continued to block his way, glaring at him in anger; irritation started to bubble up in his throat, and he tried to keep his composure before huffing through his nostrils angrily. The fear at being seen by anyone else was rising, he had to get out of sight before this girl made any more of a scene than she already had.

"No! I'll tell the papers ye were here. Ye need ta go back to yer fuckin' castle, mate!" The young girl crossed her arms, not moving a muscle. Fucking hell! John felt fury begin to boil and he clenched his fists tightly in his pockets. She had to move right now or else.

"Oi, listen here-" Furious, John was about to give her a piece of his mind, until something interrupted him.

"Eh, what's goin' on-" The window was thrown open, an annoyed Paul peeking through it, Jane moving out of the way to stare at him. But, Paul fell silent as soon as his eyes locked with John's, the younger's widening and cheeks flushing red. "John!" He looked genuinely surprised as to the fact that John was there.

"Paul, please, let me explain-" Relief washed over the prince and he moved towards him, desperate to make it up to the younger boy, but once again, this girl had to ruin the moment.

"Paul, wha' the hell is goin' on? What is the prince of fuckin' Liverpool doin' at yer 'ouse?" She stared at him in utter bewilderment, demanding an explanation. Resentment began to build up against her, the prince's expression darkening and his anger growing more and more visible.

"J-Jane! Uh..." So. Jane; that was the girl's name. Paul stared at the girl before ushering John inside, the older crawling through the window and into the bedroom, which was thankfully empty of people except for Paul - grateful that Paul let him in at all, John flashed a pleased smile towards him before raising his eyebrows smugly at Jane, whose cheeks flushed with annoyance, turning her gaze away. "Just.. don't tell anyone, yeah? I'll explain later. If ye tell anyone, I'll be really upset with ye." The sable-haired boy spoke hastily, as if to rush her along and away from them.

"Right.. well, I won't. For you." Jane smiled sweetly, basically making heart eyes at Paul before leaning to press a wet kiss to his cheek, then giving him a wave with a blinding grin and walking off out of sight. 

Paul wiped it off with a half-grimace, having not enjoyed it at all before turning to look at John - who was positively fuming. His teeth were clenched tightly and he was glaring at the spot where Jane just left, jealousy hot and scorching in his veins. Paul had a fucking girlfriend? 

"John.. hey." Paul moved to stand in front of his friend, catching his attention with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, don't worry about 'er, she's nothin'."

When John just glared at him, silent, not replying - Paul just sighed and grabbed his hand, interlacing their fingers before pulling him away.

"Come'ead, let's go to the barn. We won't be bothered there." 

John didn't object, and he just snuck along behind Paul through the rooms until they escaped out the back door, running for their life through the garden to the barn, as fast as they could before they were spotted. The door was slammed shut, and Paul turned to him, hands on his hips, intense glare staring John down, making him almost forget about what just happened with that Jane bitch. 

"Where the hell were ye? Ye ass, I was waiting fer ages!" Paul then crossed his arms, turning away with a huff. The early morning sun poured like gold through the windows, casting light onto the younger's figure, turning his skin alight and glowing and reflecting against his shiny jet black hair. Eyelashes turned blonde from it, eyes turning a flaming bronze with flecks of green. John only wished that Paul was happy. It would make it perfect. 

"I'm sorry, okay? I-I'm so sorry. Please, let me explain what happened-"

"It better be good. Yer an ass, ye know that, Lennon?" Paul moved to sit on a stack of hay bales, resting his head in his hands and gazing up at the older expectantly.

"I know." John sighed eventually before moving to sit next to the younger, tentatively tugging on the end of his sleeves before beginning. "I just... all this shit 'appened once ye left. With Mimi, somethin' the papers were writin' about me-" He then explained everything that had transpired after Paul left, what Mimi said and what was in the papers - how he wanted so badly to come but thought it was for the best to not put him in danger and go see him in case they were caught; but John had realised that it wasn't right. 

Paul listened with growing warmth, his entire posture loosening and expression softening as he gazed at John, moving to sit on the cushiony floor to lie down, kicking his feet up against the haystack next to where John was still sitting. The prince was extremely glad for this, his heart soaring and an uncontrollable grin growing on his face as he sat down next to his friend once he was done.

"I.. I am sorry, Paul. Tell me how ta make it up to ye. I'll do anything." He gazed down at the younger earnestly, reaching to entwine Paul's nimble fingers with his own, their hands slotting together perfectly, interlocking in a way that caused John's heart to race. 

"'s okay. It wasn't yer fault. Please jus'... don't do it again." The younger turned to look him in the eyes, John's cheeks flushing at that before he sat up, reaching to cup the prince's cheek. His eyelids fluttered closed at the contact and he subconsciously leaned into it, pressing his cheek to Paul's palm with a soft sigh that said more than he could ever say. Paul could see in the way John reacted to touch that he was extremely touch-starved.. his heart ached sadly for the boy. It made him want to give him all the kisses and cuddles in the world. Let him know he was loved. 

"I'm sorry." The words slipped from John's mouth before he could stop it, eyes half-opening again to see Paul only inches away, foreheads gently bumping together, breath mixing in the crisp air.

"Stop apologisin', git." The younger's breath was hot against the prince's lips before his and Paul's connected, John sucking in a breath through his nostrils and wrapping his arms around the younger's waist, Paul pulling the older closer with a sigh, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, noses bumping softly. After a few seconds they parted only slightly, Paul reaching to press a kiss to the older's nose, before on his cheek and jaw, then to his chin and back up to his lips. 

John's cheeks went even redder than before and his head ducked ever so slightly, shy smile appearing. God, how is he so cute?  
Paul grinned at that and pressed another peck to the tip of his aquiline nose before reaching to play absentmindedly with John's thick, fluffy hair. 

"Uhm, Paul?" His voice was quiet, vulnerable. Hesitant to say anything. 

"Yeah?" Paul reassuringly squeezed his friend's hand with a small smile. Trying to tell him it's okay.

"I need to know." 

"What's up, Johnny?" 

"What are we?" John's eyes lifted from his lap to stare unwaveringly at the younger, gaze searching and anxious. 

"What do ya mean?" Paul's heart stuttered slightly and he blinked. Does he mean..?

"Are we-" The older licked his lips, pausing for a second to think about what to say next before continuing. "Are we together? Like... a couple? Boyfriend an' girlfriend type?" A dreaded silence followed, all bravado the older had diminished in a few seconds and causing John to backtrack immediately, breath shallowing and heart racing. He must have said the wrong thing! "I-I mean- sorry, like- we don't have to if ye don't want to- I-"

"John." Paul stopped him with a finger to the older's lips, causing him to be quiet immediately, staring up at him with that same vulnerability, grip loosening when he realised he had been clutching tightly onto Paul's waist, as if to keep him from running as soon as John spoke those words. "It's okay. I..." Paul trailed off in doubt and he rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. "I've never been with a.. man before. I don't know how ta go about it. I-Is it like.. the same as being with a girl? I dunno what ta do. I've never even liked a man before... this is seriously new fer me. It's scary." 

"It's.. not tha' different, really." John chuckled slightly, though there wasn't much humour in it. "Ye just.. be together, like a boy an' girl.. except both boys." He shrugged slightly before crossing his arms in his lap, hyper-focussing on the light, almost invisible hairs on his arms. "But.. ye can't really go out on dates an' stuff. Of course. An'.. the sex is y'know... d-different." Both the boy's cheeks went beet red at the mention, John wishing he had never brought it up and burying his head in his hands. "Sorry-" 

"It's.. it's fine." Paul felt laughter begin to bubble up in his throat, and before he could stop himself - it spilled from his lips in raucous joy and he threw his head back, the absurdity of their situation extremely funny to the younger. John watched him for a few seconds in embarrassed shock before being able to do nothing except join in, both laughing until their stomachs ached. 

"The-the- the way ye phrased that!" Paul managed to get out through giggles, leaning on his friend's chest for support, feeling John shake underneath him with silent laughter. "The sex is ... different.. yknow.." The older punched Paul's chest playfully, albeit halfheartedly at his mocking.

"Shurrup!"

"What? Ye fuckin' said it." Paul sucked in a breath and wiped his teary eyes before beginning to calm down, chest and stomach sore. "Yer words, not mine!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever..." John grew silent as he turned to gaze anxiously at him, eyebrows raised. "A-are ye serious, though? Do.. do ye want ta be with me?" He was almost afraid of the answer.

"Y.. yeah. I do. I wanna be with you." Paul spoke eventually, nodding earnestly, small smile on his face as he rested his hands on the older's hips. "Y'know, boyfriends an' all that stuff. I.. don't know much about it, but.. ye can help me through it." 

"R..really?" His face and voice was so goddamn hopeful, eyes lighting up at the younger's response, smile creeping its way into his face. 

"Yeah." Paul grinned back, and suddenly his lips were attacked by another, laughter escaping before John pulled the younger flush against his own body one hand carding through his shiny black hair. Joy and happiness was coursing through them both at full speed, and they held onto each other as tightly as they could - John pressing kisses to anywhere he could reach as they rolled around in the hay, cheerful laughter echoing throughout the barn at the revelation. 

"Oh my god, we're dating now." They giggled into each other's mouths, John gazing down him with the biggest grin he had ever seen, lying on top of the younger, arms and legs entangled. 

"We are.." Paul sighed happily and wrapped his arms around his neck, unsuppressed grin glowing on his face. As the prince stared down at his new boyfriend (god, a shiver of delight coursed through him every time he said that), his breath hitched.

Below him was this beautiful, cherubic-faced boy - looking as if he was sent straight from fucking heaven by the gods right into John's undeserving arms. Rich inky black locks splayed out every which way below him, perfectly framing his tanned, heart-shaped face; dark, arched brows, hooded eyes shining with glee, green and brown flecks shining strongly in the sunlight. Long, dark eyelashes fluttering slightly, turned a golden in the sun - button nose and smooth, kissable cheeks tinted red, plump lips, which had been tinted red from kissing, pulled in a wide grin, bunny-shaped teeth glinting. Chest still heaving slightly with laughter residue, and his entire body, rumpled clothes and all, covered in strands of hay.   
John completely forgot how to breathe, eyes wide as his took all of his boyfriend in, not able to do anything else. He knew, right from that point on - he was well and truly fucked. 

"God, you are so fucking breathtaking." The words came out before he could stop himself, and his cheeks flushed even more at the confession, eyes pulling away to look anywhere else but Paul. 

"N-no I'm not. Shut up." The younger chuckled breathlessly, embarrassed and suddenly self conscious at what John said. 

"No, you are!" John reached and placed a hand under his chin, gazing at him with a small smile. "You're so beautiful, Paul. I hope ye know that." 

"Th.. thank you." Paul spoke eventually, grin lighting up his face once again before he pulled John down for a kiss, sigh emanating from him before they parted, noses brushing as they rested their foreheads against each other. "You're beautiful too. I can't believe I'm datin' such a beautiful person." 

"Not true. Dunno why yer datin' me in the first place." 

"Shut up. There's so many reasons. Yer fucking hot, funny, handsome, beautiful, pretty, same interests, caring, considerate, smart, loving, amazing kisser, great ass-" Paul listed them off flawlessly, counting them off on his hand before John slapped it away with a huff.

"Okay, okay!" The older had become extremely flustered at the words and he buried his head into his shoulder. The doe-eye boy could feel the smile, though and he couldn't help but giggle, pulling his head up again to connect their lips, wrapping their arms around each other before smiling into the kiss, John tilting his head to deepen it slightly. 

"I like ye so much." Paul grinned at him, and John grinned back, pulling him into one last kiss before resting their foreheads together again. 

"I like ye too."

Unbeknownst to the smitten boys, there was a certain Mike staring at them in shock from behind the barn door. 

✧✧✧✧✧

"Right. Are you ready, John? Cynthia? I just finished doing my speech." Mimi squeezed through the front door, closing it after her and dusting herself off. "They're quite eager to see both of you- I would do my best to please them. After the whole controversy, they're a bit irritated and want answers. Just a warning." She informed them. 

John had gone home after visiting Paul and was immediately met with an irate Mimi and silent Cynthia. After quickly changing out of his rumpled, hay-filled clothes, he learned that he was a tad late for the public announcement they were about to make that him and Cynthia were getting married, and also have an interview and shut down the 'controversies' which the papers had been writing about. Mimi had just had an interview herself and had worn her best dress and her heavy golden crown. He absolutely didn't want to do this whatsoever, but it was inevitable - he had to do it.

So, accepting his fate, the prince nodded. "I'm ready." The guards took this as signal, and began to open the doors. Quickly the two linked arms, the servants dusting off any last fluff and straightening out the last creases before disappearing into the darkness. All that was left was for the two to smile and wave. [smile and wave boys, smile and wave]

"Prince Lennon! Miss Powell! Please may we ask you some questions-" Immediately they were bombarded, but John knew how to deal with it, instead just continuing to walk further out on the front and making their way down the steps, waving and smiling all the while - ignoring every voice calling out to him until they reached the end of the steps, the reporters, writers, journalists, whatever-the-fuck people being held back by a velvet rope and guards standing in front, desperately trying to catch their attention and get them to answer their question. 

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!" John held up a hand with a faked hearty chuckle, grin still wide on his face as they eventually all fell quiet. "One a time, if you would be so kind." He moved the hand away behind his back, holding it tightly in a fist to keep from fidgeting. 

"Prince Lennon!" They started up once again, but less of them this time, John shutting the rest up when he pointed to a tall, lanky, specky looking fella, pretending to be interested in whatever the man had to say as much as he could. 

"You there! What is your query?" 

"Your majesty, please, if I may ask- could you please address the new controversy surrounding you -" He was pretty much grovelling at John's feet, and it made disgust rise in his throat, trying not to grimace. He hated people grovelling or treating him like some fucking god. He wasn't that bloody amazing! "About certain accusations that you commit sodomy and have been frolicking around with common boys? Are these accusations true or false?" 

"Oh, absolute hogwash, of course! Papers always writing such nonsense. They might have seen a boy that looks similar to me, possibly - but of course, that is never true that it could be me. Me? With common folk? Ridiculous." He brushed it off nonchalantly, though his heart was racing and sweat was beginning to build in his forehead. Fuck oh my god. Jesus christ help me. C'mon John you can do this.

"Of course, Prince Lennon."

"Next!" 

John continued to answer a few more questions, most of them just boring stuff or about the controversy, but he answered those easily and brushed them off. Eventually, he had to stop and announce the final news. 

"Now, now. I have something to announce to the public." He tried his best to keep a happy face, but already he was incredibly tired and wanted to just go lie in bed in Paul's arms. Ignoring the feelings, he began again. "Miss Powell and I... are engaged to be married." They faked a loving smile towards each other and he pulled the girl closer to his side slightly. 

Immediately, they went practically insane, trying their best to get their questions in as much as possible - John handles it surprisingly well and answered one at a time. 

“When’s the wedding?”

“January 5th next year.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be marrying another woman of royalty?” 

“Cynthia is a royal descendant of the lost kings and queens of Hoylake.”

Blah, blah fucking blah. John was incredibly glad when it was over, smiling and waving as they went back inside. As soon as they were inside, John let out a groan of relief, leaning against the closed doors with a sigh. 

“Thank god that’s fucking over.” 

“Language, John. Now please get ready for lunch, please. Tonight we’re having more guests over for dinner.”

The prince just nodded before leaving the two, feeling Cynthia’s gaze boring into his back as he went up the stairs and down to his room out of sight. 

Falling stomach first into his bed, he grinned widely into his pillow as he remembered the events that transpired that morning. Paul and him were fucking dating!!! He giggled involuntarily and rolled onto his back, staring up at the roof of his bed with a grin. After the dinner he would meet up with Paul again. He couldn’t wait any longer after that - he had to see his boyfriend. Wow, I can actually say that now! 

He got up after a few minutes of lying there to get ready for the lunch. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS OMG sorry this is late i been sick :’)) anyroad hope yall enjoy this !!! sum mclennon fluff ((: thanks for almost 4.5k already omg this is insane! dont have much to say except hope yall enjoy eeee its almost 4am gnight !! ily all sm <333


	27. twenty six.

april 1859 

"It's gonna be okay, Paul, really-"

"No! No, it's not!" The nearly-seventeen-year-old-boy was pacing fervently back and forth in the rickety, worn down McCartney barn, kicking up stray bundles of straw in frustration. Three quite exasperated boys watched on, trying their best to calm the distressed boy down. "I-I haven't even been able ta practice proper 'cause of me da' groundin' me an' other things comin' up, 'm gonna be shit! I'll never get the fuckin' job!"

"Hey, hey, Macca-" John immediately stood up and moved to stand in front of Paul and stop his pacing, concerned and trying to diffuse his boyfriend's anxiety. "It's okay, love. You'll be fine; ye play so good, honestly! Yer a fuckin' natural, if they can't see that it's their loss. There's plenty other bars an' places ye can play for." He wrapped an arm around his waist to bring him gently to sit on a stack of hay, the distant noises of the horses and livestock rustling and eating their dinner filling their ears.   
It was the day of the audition and Paul was an absolute wreck as you could all tell; worried that he wasn't good enough and didn't practice enough and wouldn't get the job. All of them continued to assure him that he was great and would do fine, probably better than half the people who were auditioning etc, but it still didn't help. The only thing that would help is to go and get it over with before Paul popped all the veins in his neck. 

"Y-yeah.. thanks, John. But, I dunno... I still haven't been able ta practice as much as I wanted to.. I'm not good enough yet." The sable-haired boy rested his elbows on his knees with a huff, rubbing harshly at his forehead as he tried to calm himself. The three boys watched on almost helplessly, George leaning against the rotting wall of the barn behind them, Ringo sitting next to him on the floor, getting distracted by Paul's horse, named Ginny, trotting to the edge of its pen and sniffing them curiously to see if they had any apples for him to munch on.

"You are good, love! Trust me, yer fuckin' great. You'll do fine. Please.... don't stress yerself too much abou' it. We're gonna be here th' entire time with ya." John's arm snaked to rest on his boyfriend's hip and he smiled warmly and pressed a kiss to the side of his cheek, Paul immediately leaning into it and resting his head on the older's shoulder with a sigh. George watched on with a small smile, feeling extremely accomplished. Him and Ringo had been told that day of Paul and John's consummated relationship and the two had freaked out for a while, revelling in their joy of their best friends finally getting together. It was great.

When Paul's breathing slowed after a few minutes of gentle coaxing and soft-spoken words from John, Ringo stood up and checked his watch, eyes bugging slightly at the time.

"We better leave now guys, or else we'll be late." They looked up in shock before the four scrambled to get their coats, running out into the afternoon night after Ringo saying a quick goodbye to Ginny and giving her a small piece of leftover blueberry pie before they dashed out of there. Paul broke off to go back inside, giving them one last wave and disappearing through the back door into his house.

He was going to hang out there for a few minutes longer, so as to not look suspicious to his father; Paul wasn't meant to be going out, still, after all. After that he would sneak away at the best moment possible and pretend to be feeling a bit sick before putting pillows and round-shaped nicknacks in his bed and covering them with a blanket to make it look like he was fast asleep in bed -  
then make his great escape and meet the rest of the boys at the pub, just in time for his audition. That was their plan, at least. John just hoped to god it would work out.

"Y'think Paul will make it out ok?" George drawled as they made their way, relatively fast, down the street, Ringo leading the way as he knew the direction to the pub, leading them through many streets as it began to change from run-down, working-class houses to middle class areas, more and more people bustling about and shops looming above them.

"Hopefully. Surprised Jim didn't give 'im worse of a punishment, to be honest." Ringo replied with a shrug, apologising when he bumped into a lady that gave him a glare. They weaved through the growing crowd as best as they could; finally reaching the corner where Presley's pub was situated, they knocked on the door that had a sign that displayed "sorry, we're closed until 8pm - auditions in progress" on it. Faint piano ditty's were drifting from the building, and John strained his ears to listen to it. Alcoholics and drunkards next to the group of boys were banging on the windows and closed doors, stumbling on their unsteady feet with grumbles like; "fuck, why're they closin' this damn place early" and "fuckin' cunt Presley, I need a goddamn beer" followed by more incomprehensible mumbling.

A few seconds of no reply followed, standing there awkwardly while trying to avoid the drunkards swarming all around them, hands shoved in pockets nervously. John was wearing a disguise, having borrowed Paul's clothes (which were surprisingly fitting and comfortable, a lot more scratchy though; he couldn't stop breathing in the scent of Paul that enveloped the clothes) and slicked his hair back with a fake moustache, no glasses. It would make him legally blind and make it hard hard to get around without bumping into everything in sight, but he had his friends to guide him around.

Suddenly, a tall, handsome-looking man with jet-black, slicked back hair and pouty lips opened the door, looking vaguely disinterested before he spotted the three boys before him.

"Ah, hey, Ringo." His voice was deep and smooth, and had an American twang to it. "What's up, boys?"

"Aye Elvis. We're here fer the audition? Me friend's comin' in a few minutes." Ringo greeted his friend before they were let inside, Elvis giving a quick "fuck off would ya" to the protesting alcoholics swearing at the owner of the pub for him to reopen it before slamming the door.

"Right. Tell me when you guys are ready, grab a drink or somethin', I gotta attend to some other chumps first." He led them through the unusually empty pub to the bar, where the bartenders were getting set up to open once they finish the auditions; once he did so he moved to the other end of the pub, where the piano was situated, a few people lined up to audition, looking nervous.

Catching the attention of the bartenders, Ringo ordered their drinks while John decided to look over the people waiting to audition. There was a scruffy, middle aged man with a long greying beard standing fiddling with a rumpled piece of paper in his hands, looking as if he was ready to be out the room the moment someone even glances in his general direction - a young man, maybe seven or so years older than John looking nonchalant, smoking a pipe and leaning against the wall; and another older man, possibly late 30s sitting politely in one of the booths next to the piano, digging into a box which contained chicken and rice. So the competition looked tough-ish then; at least the young man that was leaning against the wall looked to have some potential at least. John had faith in Paul, though - he knew his boyfriend would blow all the competition out of the waters.

"What'd'ye think of 'em?" The prince gestured to the small group of waiting people, turning to look at George and Ringo who were whispering to each other about something. They broke away to look at their best friend before examining the people. George was always much better at reading people than anyone John knew; even if you had put up every wall possible and perfected faked expressions to a tee, he still managed to see right through most people. Maybe it was the piercing stare as if he was looking right at your soul.

"The old guy isn't gonna get the job, fer sure. He seems to be recitin' somethin' on a sheet an' really nervous. The guy in 'is 30s looks like 'e would be pretty good but jus' not good at being able ta play for a prolonged amount of time. The other guy, probably pretty good. Paul's gonna get it fer sure, though. 'e's the best out of all of 'em, I bet." George made his analysis before leaning his elbows on the bar and taking another sip of his beer with a content sigh.

"Yeah. 'e better be here soon, I hope nothin' too bad's happened." Ringo glanced towards the entrance as if Paul would come bursting through right then and there, but it unfortunately stayed closed.

"Jim's probably skinned 'im an' hung his bleedin' body on the clothesline outside the house by now." The youngest of the group chuckled at the thought before taking another sip and putting it down.

"Probably. Let's hope not, though, I would like 'im to still be alive. For, y'know.. reasons." John shrugged nonchalantly, feeling his friend's eyes on him and struggling not to smile.

"Hmph! Yer just usin' precious Paulie fer sex! How dare ye! Why I oughta fight ya righ' here right now-" The azure-eyed boy puffed out his chest in mock offence, the two older boys immediately falling into the gimmick and squaring up, John making pig noises and brushing his thumb against his nose.

"Roight, well let's fuckin' go then! C'mon, put up yer dukes!" John pulled the best scouser accent he could, both of them hopping back and forth on the spot and dodging each other's fake punches with suppressed giggles. Immediately, George began a sport's reporter voice;

"Here goes Lennon an' Starr head ta head!Lennon throws a punch to his head and BAM! He misses! Starr getting a throw into the stomach, though, and WOOSHHH he hits, Lennon falls back! Big ouchhh!! Starr goes again for another but Lennon's prepared! He dodges and gets a hit to the noooseeeee! Wowie zowie ladies and gents!" The three making exaggerated faces and dramatic reactions, Ringo pretended to fall to the floor and pass out when John threw a fake punch to his nose, the group dissolving into laughter. "Starr is out for the count! Lennon's got a strooooong grip! Will he stay down? C'mon, 3 secoonndss on the clock-"

"Aye! What's goin' on 'ere, lads?" A familiar voice cut into their playing and looking up, there Paul was, out of breath and hair slightly out of place. The boy grinned at them and they grinned back in excitement.

"Lennon an' Starr ultimate battle!" George waved him over, Paul immediately joining in the fun and pretending to act all shocked, coming to stand next to the youngest of the group while Ringo pretended to struggle to his feet, wiping pretend blood off of his top lip with a grimace. "Oh! Starr is back, he's comin' back! What do ye think, Mr Paul Macca?" George turned to his friend who cupped his hands around his mouth and whooped, pumping a fist in the air.

"World star!! Go Lennon! Beat that rotter ta pieces!"

John burst into laughter again and they continued to wrestle, the prince spitting out pretend blood and then falling to his knees and held his hands up to the ceiling with a cry; "Why must ye forsake me, God?" With a faint scream as Ringo pretended to bring a sword down upon his head, John making a gurgling noise and hanging his head.

"Nooo!! My love!" Paul knelt by John and pretended to cry and dab at his eyes with a hanker chief until they were interrupted by Elvis coming back over.

"Hey, y'all are up for the audition now." The older man gestured to the other side of the pub before walking off towards it. They quickly stood up and composed themselves, laughter dying out as they grew serious, Paul trying his best not to get too anxious over it.

"It's okay, Macca. Ye can do this." John rested a hand to his shoulder as they guided the stressed boy to the piano, flashing a warm smile as he moved away from them with a nod, sitting down at the seat with a huff. Yeah. I can do this. The boy continued to tell himself. It was only Elvis and the bartenders left in the pub besides George, John and Ringo now, the owner waiting patiently for Paul to start.

"Wooo! Go Paulie!" George whooped and cheered, the three clapping enthusiastically before quieting when Paul flashed them a glare. He turned back to the piano and held his hands to the keys with a shaky breath, sitting silent for a few seconds before suddenly breaking into song.

The fast-paced chords filled the silent room quickly, drifting throughout all the building, filling it with its flowing, rich notes. He was an absolute natural, of course, the tune coming extremely easy to Paul, nimble fingers flying across the keys flawlessly, losing himself in the music. The tune of Hello, My Baby, Hello My Honey filled the room and Paul began to sing along to it, his deep honeyed voice joining in the piano chords.

"Hello, my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime, summertime gal-"

John had never heard Paul sing before. His singing voice was surprisingly high, but he was good at doing the growls of Arthur Collin's voice as well. He was so wonderful to listen to and John couldn't help but stare in awe at his boyfriend. How the hell could be so talented at everything? It was so addicting, so inviting; it sent a shiver up his spine and his breath hitched while listening to it - it turned him on a little more than he would admit. Just a bit.

Once the song was over, a few seconds of silence followed, the entire group of people in the pub staring at the doe-eyed boy in amazement before Elvis strode over with a warm smile, reaching to shake Paul's hand, who stood up in shock at the notion.

"You've got the job, son. You were brilliant."

"R-really? Wow, thank ye, sir!" The boy chuckled breathlessly, shaking his hand with a big grin before Elvis leaned back against the piano. "It's an honour."

"We're 'bouta open up again for tonight. Do ya think you could start now? Til 11pm? We can organise a proper schedule later on. The pay is 7 shillings an hour." The American man asked as he walked away from the group, the boys trailing behind him, John sneaking an arm around his boyfriend's waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek with a soft; "congrats love" when no one was looking. Paul looked up at him with a joyful grin and pressed a kiss to his lips before breaking away, standing a few inches apart so as to not look suspicious.

"Uh- yeah, of course!" Paul eventually remembered that that question was directed at him. Seven shillings an hour? That's pretty good for a job like Paul's.

"Thank you- sorry to ask you that on such short notice. Every 45 minutes you get a break. an' just play anythin' upbeat, really. As for you guys.." Elvis turned to George, John and Ringo with a clap of his hands and a gesture to the bar. "Drinks are on me tonight. Have fun!" He then walked out the room and to the back, the bartenders lighting up the last of the oil lamps and waiters preparing the tables before taking off the sign and opening the doors.

"Wow! Okay, well boys, I better get to me first shift of me new job now!" Paul turned to his friends with a nervous grin. "Come visit me on me break! See ya." He waved them goodbye, Paul sending a wink to John before making his way to the piano, who blushed profusely and struggled not to smile, giving him one last once over before the three went to sit at the bar, sipping the last of their beers before George ordered some more.

Now that the doors were open, people began to trickle in, and the pub began to get crowded with people. Paul took up the piano playing again, causing the chatter filling the warm, brightly lit pub to be accompanied by jaunty tunes. It was now about 8pm, the sun hanging low in the sky and beginning to set, purples, oranges, reds and yellows all mixing together like a painting.

Once the three had got their second beers, they moved through the growing crowd into the smooth leather booth next to the piano, Paul belting out a fast ragtime tune; there was the same woman who usually sings or dances to the music to entertain guests dancing away with two other ladies on stage, their swift tap dancing movements (and the show off of their breasts, as it was compulsory to do that) causing ripples of whoops and whistles from the men sitting at the tables facing the stage. It was normal for a pub to have dancing women like that. One in particular, long ink-black hair and dark eyeliner, dancing next to the main woman, was eyeing up the three boys in the booth to her right, sending a friendly smile and a wink their way before continuing dancing.

Ringo stared at her for a few moments with a small smile, but turned back to look at George with a grin, taking a sip of his beer before discreetly lacing their fingers together under the table. Before he had gotten together with George he would have gone for that woman - but not anymore.

"So, how are ye enjoyin' yer night, boys?" The blue-eyed boy asked before sipping at his beer again. The three boys had become more loose and comfortable after their first beer, relaxing in the warmth that shot throughout their body, John unabashedly staring at Paul, who was having the time of his life performing, sweat running down the back of his neck, with a small smile and soft eyes. He was so goddamn beautiful. The prince's stomach exploded with butterflies every time he looked at Paul, and his heart soared at how much his boyfriend was having fun performing for the masses. The raven-haired boy's eyes were shining with joy and there was a gigantic, unsuppressed grin on his lips, sweat beading around his slightly tousled hair, running down his forehead and the back of his neck, fingers still flying across the keys in flawless cooperation, feet tapping along to the music in excitement. It was so goddamn amazing to see Paul in this state, and he would never pass up another opportunity to see it again.

"Oh, 's great." Is all John could muster, not able to take his eyes off of his boyfriend, head resting in his hand with a soft sigh.

"Wow, yer really fookin' whipped aye?" George giggled into his beer as the two watched the prince. He was being so damn obvious at that moment.

"Yeah.... uh- wait what?" The auburn-haired boy finally snapped out of his trance and stared at George and Ringo in utter confusion. They both burst out laughing at that and took one last sip of their beers before finishing.

"Yer a piece of work, John. My god." The oldest of the group shook his head with a chuckle as he put down his beer mug. At that point, Paul's song had ended, the dancing women striking a pose before there was a roar of approval from the crowd, applause rippling throughout the pub, all having been amazed by this new young pianist and his skill. But, there was a group of young men, maybe 5 or so years older than George, Ringo, Paul and John, standing near the back, the tallest one glaring right at the boy at the piano.  
"Cheers! Thanks!" Paul called out breathlessly to the applauding crowd, thanking John with a small smile when the prince handed him a hanker chief to wipe the sweat off his brow.

"Oi! Who's this fookin' faggot now? Where's Chuck? This kid looks fuckin' twelve!" The seeming leader of the group called out in a scathing insult, the group dissolving into laughter, causing a few other people to laugh along as well. The boy in question glanced up at them in shock, eyes wide as he stood frozen next to the piano. These guys looked like trouble.

But those words caused John to immediately stand up off his seat, fury bubbling up in his chest to his throat at the asshole group. No one can talk about Macca like that and get away with it.

"Aye! Fuck off, ye bloody wankers!" He yelled out before he could stop himself, George and Ringo getting to their feat to come over to John.

"Shut the fuck up, John!" The youngest of the group hissed, eyes wide in fear at the intimidating group that strode over to them, looming tall over the group. Turns out they weren't much taller than John, though, and he stared eye to eye with the leader, eyes squinting at his lack of glasses, trying to see the man's face a bit better.

"Got a problem, mate?" He practically spat in the prince's face, who stoically didn't move, continuing to scowl back.

"Yeah, I do actually. Yer all fuckin' prats is my problem."

"John, stop!" Ringo practically begged, shoving his arm, not wanting to start a fight with blokes who looked ten years their senior. Paul jumped off the stage and ran to stand next to his boyfriend, glare prominent on his face and fists lifted up slightly, ready to punch. Glad Paul was going to be on his side, the group grew more and more furious.

"Say that again, cunt. I dare ya." The man's fist's clenched tightly into fists as the group began to descend on them, anger and tension high in the silent pub, everyone transfixed on the brawl that was about to start.

"'e said prats!" Paul yelled, suddenly wild with the idea of having a good barmy. And, they got what they wanted; the first punch thrown straight at the raven-haired boy's face, but he was prepared - dodging it, he threw one straight to the stomach of one of the members, who doubled over in pain.

"Fight!" George screamed before leaping on one of the men, throwing as many punches as he could to his face, Ringo and John joining in. The pub was suddenly alive with movement, and the surrounding crowd began to yell their approval; John fell to the floor with the leader on top of him, the man throwing a punch to his jaw and succeeding, the prince's vision exploding with stars for a moment as searing pain shot through his body. But, the need to hurt was stronger, skin alive with heat as he dodged another punch, the man then colliding his fist with the wooden floor below, letting out a yelp of pain as his knuckles came black bloody. Immediately, while he was distracted, John kneed him right in the junk before throwing a punch to his cheek, the man doubling over with a groan and clutching at his nether regions.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" The entire crowd was chanting excitedly the entire time, the brawl proving to be much entertainment to them at this time.

Paul was then tussling with the burliest guy of all, pressed up against the wall; the man was standing on top of a table, the people sitting below staring in shock at them - the boy struggling to rid the large hand wrapped around his neck. But, one of the men below them pushed the guy's foot off the table, the man crashing to the ground below, smacking his head on one of the surrounding tables with a groan, blood beginning to spill from a cut in his head. Paul coughed violently as he took in a breath, but recovered quickly, leaping off the table and throwing a kick to the guy's side.

Ringo had another man pinned to a table, both clawing and punching at each other anywhere they could reach, the azure-eyed boy's nose now dripping with blood and slightly crooked. 

"Hey, what the fuck is goin' on here? Get the hell out! All of you, out!" The bartenders and Elvis came over to the group, trying to break them apart and shove them towards the entrance. Thank god in that moment, as the tussling group was tossed out onto the pavement outside, Elvis nor the bartenders had not recognised Paul or the rest of the group, or else he would have lost his job. "Fuck off, don't come back!" Elvis rolled his eyes at them before slamming the door shut.

It was now very dark outside, but people were still walking about, passersby staring at the group in shock before hurrying past, not wanting to get involved.

George, Ringo, Paul and John all got to their feet, brushing themselves off before starting to walk off, checking each other's wounds. But, of course, that was ruined when there was a voice that sounded from behind them, footsteps approaching fast.

"Oi, brothers! Don't think ye can get away tha' easily, this ain't over quite yet." The leader called out with a devilish grin, the cut on his upper cheek sending drops of blood down his face. There was a flash of something bright glinting in the light, but John couldn't make out what it was, them being too far away for him to see.

"James, wha' the hell?" One of the group spotted the thing in the leader's hand and stared at him in shock. "They're jus' kids, mate! Ye don't need-"

"F-fuck, 'e has a knife, John-" Ringo stuttered slightly, and the four of them began to run away, as fast as they could. All that John could think of was protect Paul protect Paul protect Paul-

"C'mere cunts!" The leader's voice was surprisingly very close, the group being faster than the younger boys and catching up to them quickly. So, at the last second, John froze in his tracks and turned to throw a punch as hard as he could to one of the older's men's cheeks, hitting the one next to James's nose and breaking it instantly, a crack echoing throughout the alleyway and blood spurting from it profusely.

"Fuck! Me nose!" The man doubled over in pain, holding desperately onto it to try and stop the bleeding.

"Yer gonna get it now!" James hissed in fury, the man grabbing onto Paul quickly and holding him in a headlock, pressing the blade to his abdomen; the boy struggled desperately in his grasp, trying to free the arm around his neck but failing.

"Let me go, wankers!"

"Fuck- Paul!" The three boys stood stock still, John freezing in his spot with terror washing over him like a tidal wave. Fuck. They have Paul. I need to protect him- fuck shit fuck fuck-

"Let him go, ye bastards!" George screamed in anger, moving to punch, but doing that caused James to press the tip of the blade harder to Paul's side, blood spurting from the cut and staining his shirt. The boy let our a yelp of pain, eyes wide in fright, staring at his friends in alarm. Shit! John's heart raced a mile a minute, breath shallow and panic rising at seeing the wound. If he moved any further, they would sink the entire thing into Paul's side.

"Don't come any closer! One more step an' I'm puttin' the whole thing in!" The leader screamed in fury, eyes wild with fury that he almost looked insane.

"Stop it! They're jus' kids, James, let 'im go-" One of the members of the group, that was holding the other man with the broken nose in his arms, trying to diffuse the never-ending stream of blood, protested with a terrified look towards the leader.

"Shut the fuck up! Now, ye listen to me..." The leader screamed before smiling at the group, continuing to keep a struggling Paul in a strong hold.

What he didn't notice, though, was that someone was creeping up behind them, face hidden in the darkness, but John could vaguely make out they were wearing a dress. 

"I want ye all ta fuck off an' never come back. This is our place. Chuck's our mate an' 'e was the pianist before that American cunt kicked 'im off, an' this uphill gardener 'ere took 'is place." While the man was ranting, John saw the woman's face come into view in the overhanging lamps above them, and he recognised her as one of the dancers from before, dark eyeliner and long black hair. She mimed a shushing motion and a grabbing one, mouthing 'I grab him, you get the boy'; he nodded quickly and looked to see George and Ringo getting ready to fight again. 

"So's I want ya'sall to-"

"Oi! Ye naff tosser!" The woman bellowed out before grabbing onto the leader of the group and reaching to whack the knife from his hand. 

But, she was a little too late - James managed to stab the entire thing into Paul's side, eliciting a scream of pain before he was released, falling straight into John's awaiting grasp; the terrified prince pulled the knife out as quickly as he could and threw it to the woman, who caught it swiftly and pinned James to the ground, holding it at his neck. George and Ringo leapt on the rest of the unsuspecting group, holding them down as they halfheartedly struggled to free themselves. Some passersby saw the commotion and came over, breaking apart the group and trying to diffuse the situation.

"Go! Now!" The coal-haired woman called out to the boys while holding the struggling leader to the concrete. "I got this!" 

"W-wait, what's yer name?" Ringo asked as him and George broke away from the other members, running to help John get Paul to his feet. 

"Maureen! Now leave, quickly!" She yelled. 

The four didn't hesitate to listen, George helping lift Paul to lean properly on his and John's shoulder. The boy looked deadly pale, sweat dripping down his face which was contorted in pain, blood cascading from his stab wound and staining his shirt and trousers at an extremely rapid rate. Hanging his head, he was limp in his boyfriend and best friend's arms, trying his best to keep on his feet and not be basically dragged, chest heaving with the effort. 

"Motherfuckin' bellends!" Ringo screamed after them as the four dashed away from the scene, throwing up the finger before dashing down the street as quickly as they could. They had to get away from there, somewhere safe enough where they won't be disturbed and they can treat Paul's wound.

"It's okay Paul, it's okay, we're nearly there, I've got you love-" John continued to whisper encouraging words to the bleeding boy - clutching onto the arm that had been thrown over his shoulder as tightly as he could, wrapping his other arm around Paul's waist to hoist him up a bit more, pressing tightly onto the wound to try and stop the immediate bleeding; doing this caused the younger to hiss out a breath through clenched teeth at the agony. Seeing his boyfriend this hurt the auburn-haired boy so badly, tears welling in his eyes as he picked up the pace, twisting through as many streets as they thought was decent before arriving at a dark, enclosed alleyway. 

"Okay, we're here- sit down fer me, love.." Gently, John helped Paul slide to the ground, still pressing a hand to the wound, not caring that the blood was getting all over it. Paul was more important. "Quick, uh- Ringo, apply pressure to the wound, George, lie him down and put his legs up against the wall, he seems to be in shock." Paul was ghostly pale and sweating, lips turning blue and eyes hooded. His friends did as was told and John threw off his jacket, grabbing at his shirt and pulling it off, folding it to make a makeshift bandage. 

Silence followed except for Paul's ragged breathing, the pressure being applied by Ringo causing the blood to slowly flow less and less, until after a few minutes, it stopped. 

"Okay, take yer hand off fer a second.." John instructed, before they gently peeled away Paul's blood-soaked shirt, wincing at seeing the fresh wound, covered in drying blood, and turning away for a moment. "Oh god.."

"Holy fuckin'-" George immediately turned green and stumbled a few steps away to vomit onto the ground.

"Okay, cleanin' the wound- Ringo, use me shirt an' go to the nearest place ye can get clean water, quick!" The boy nodded before grabbing the shirt and dashing away and out of sight. Sighing, John turned back to Paul, gently tapping his face to try and keep him awake. "Macca? Macca stay awake fer me, yeah? Can ye hear me?"

The boy slowly turned his gaze to look at his boyfriend, face still contorted in pain, but he managed a tight smile through it. "Yeah.. yeah, 'm ok. John, it hurts..." His voice was hoarse and just above a whisper, tears beginning to fall down the sides of his face as he laid there, in too much pain to even move. This hurt John so much more than he thought it would, and he reached to interlace their bloodstained hands together tightly, smiling sadly through the tears.

"It's okay love. You're doing so, so well, baby. It'll all be over soon, trust me. Yer okay..." He pressed his forehead involuntarily to Paul's, voice wavering slightly as the possibilities of what could happen to his boyfriend flowed through his mind. What if Paul died right then and there? Please, god no. John shut up. He'll be okay. Help him through this.

"John! We got it.." The prince looked up to see Ringo running towards them, wet cloth in hand. But he was not alone. A young man, possibly in his thirties, with a woman of about the same age were hurrying over. "I asked these people if they could help, they're both doctors-"

"Yes, what's happened here? This boy said that one of you was stabbed?" The woman asked worriedly, the man coming up to stand beside her. John gazed at them for a second, feeling a little suspicious for a moment, but after looking at their genuine concern, he relaxed, moving aside to show Paul. 

"Oh, poor boy- here, we have medical equipment back in our house. It's only up the street." The man gestured to the street next to them, the two people standing a few metres away. George and John stared at them for a few seconds before exchanging a look. We can trust them. George nodded his head in their direction, and John nodded back, both moving to help Paul up. The couple helped them by hoisting him up to be piggybacked by John; they then carried him away out of the alleyway and down the street to the couple's house led by them, Paul burying his head in the crook of his boyfriend's neck, who smiled warmly in return, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. Once they got to the house, the man opened the door, leading them inside with a comforting smile;

It was a modest, but well-lit house. A front hallway that had two closed doors on either side, before opening up to the neat, spotless kitchen, which had an archway leading to the lounge room. They were led through both before they opened a door to the right, which led to the washroom. John gently set Paul down on the bench, the couple moving to stand beside him, George and Ringo trailing behind nervously. 

"Is it alright if we inspect the wound?" The woman gently inquired to Paul, who nodded slowly, letting out a huff as he unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off to reveal his stab wound. John stepped back, knowing that it would be better to not get involved, jumping up to sit on the edge of the sink and watched the couple get to work. First, they inspected the wound to see if there was anything stuck in it; then they got a wet washcloth and cleaned off all the excess blood and dirt, giving it to John after so he could clean him and Ringo's hands; thirdly, they properly cleaned it with disinfectant and other materials, then they got out a needle and stitches to stitch it all up, as it was quite deep (this caused Paul to writhe in pain and he had to clutch onto his boyfriend's hand as tightly as possible to stabilise himself). Once they were done, they wrapped padding onto it and secured it with copious amounts of bandage. 

"Right, well.. there's that. He needs to rest for the next few days, can't be doing anything too strenuous. Change the bandaging every day, check for signs of infection. After probably three days, come back and we will take the stitches out; after about ten days, if you keep to that routine, his wound will have almost completely healed; but it will leave a scar, is all." The brunette-haired woman explained to the four boys, colour now finally coming back to Paul's face, muscles relaxed slightly as the pain had subsided to a dull aching throb. 

"Thank ye so much, really. Uhm, how much-" John grinned at them gratefully, reaching into his jacket pocket to fish for money. 

"It's nothing, really. Don't fuss yourselves over that." The man patted the prince's shoulder with a small smile. "Just take him home to rest. Come back in three days to take the stitching out so it doesn't get infected, here's our address-" The man went to grab a piece of paper and pen, writing it down and passing it to John, who took it with a small smile and a nod.

"Thank ye so much fer helpin' us. We probably woulda gotten it all wrong." Ringo piped up with a chuckle.

"It's alright, dears. Now hurry on home, your parents much be worried!" The woman then helped Paul get down, the raven-haired boy throwing an arm across John's shoulder, leaning on him for support.

"Thank you." Paul sent them a small smile before they trudged out the house, into the mid-temperature night.

"Uhm, where do we go now?" George finally spoke up after being silent for most of the ordeal, looking less terrified now but worried as he gazed at his best friend. "If Paul goes home an' Jim sees tha'...."

"I'd never be able ta go out again." Paul finished, resting his head on John's shoulder with a huff, voice quiet and hoarse.

"What should we do?" Ringo inquired.

"Paul could come to mine? I'll drop 'im off early in the mornin'. He could maybe say he's a bit sick or somethin' to find an excuse to not move around so much. Definitely won't be choppin' wood fer the next week." John spoke up, turning to look at his boyfriend. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah.. yeah, that's a good idea. We'll see ye guys tomorrow, yeah? Come ta mine." Paul gazed at his two best friends with a small smile. They smiled back, moving to hug Paul (avoiding his left side, though), the boy grinning as they group hugged. 

"Yer a fuckin' beast, Paulie. Ye survived a stabbin'!" George grinned at him in amazement. "I'd probably die from terror immediately."

"Nah, yer strong, Geo. Ye'd get through it just as much as me." Paul rolled his eyes. "See ye guys."

"See ya!"

The couple then made their way to John's manor, sneaking over the fence. Paul piggybacked John again to make sure not to hurt himself, and they stayed like that until they got to the prince's room, the boy dropping his boyfriend as gently as he could onto the sheets before moving to collect some sleepwear for them. There was so much care and thoughtfulness in his movements and expression as he helped Paul change before getting into bed next to him, it caused the younger's heart to race and his stomach to flutter at the attention being paid to him. Snuggling into his boyfriend's warm, almost hairless chest, he smiled softly, breathing in his scent as John wrapped his arms around him, careful to avoid his bandaged wound.

"Today's gone from amazing to a fuckin' shit-storm, hasn't it?" The older chuckled quietly.

"Yeah... it really has. But.. at least you were there with me." He gazed up at his boyfriend with a small smile. John had washed some of the grease out from his styled hair, and it was back to its curly, messy self, fake moustache gone, a dazed smile on his thin lips, eyes half lidded and gazing at Paul with affection shining in them.

"I'll never let any more harm come to ye, love. Goodnight."

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAA SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE OMG FKJDVK have had absolutely no motivation and have also been kinda sick again and like really sad lately so JFJFJFJ anyways AAAA enjoy this longass chapter !! dont have much to say except poor macca :(( ILY ALL SO MUCH BYE<3


	28. twenty seven.

april 1859

The stacks of hay below him was soft and cushiony. Bright, spring light was streaming through the barn windows, bathing the boy that was strewn comfortably on top of stacks of hay a flaming gold. All that was heard was soft-spoken murmurs of appreciation and various noises from the animals, a hand languidly stroking the thick mane of a grey spotted horse which was munching happily on apple slices. Paul was sharing half of his apple with Ginny, just enjoying the moments of silence and relaxation; which seemed to be few and far in between as of late. Juggling his job, hiding it from his dad, and worst of all, his stab wound was a lot harder to deal with than he thought. But surprisingly, he had been successful hiding his job and seeing John and his friends in secret. So, for now - everything was fine. All he had to do was keep it up for the next month. And for seeing John, he had to keep it up for the entirety of the foreseeable future. Easy. Right? 

"I feel like 'm goin' off me fuckin' rocker, Gin." The boy chuckled to himself, gazing at the horse's soft eyes, which were focussed intently on the last slice of apple in his lap, not understanding a word of what her owner was saying. Holding up the slice to her snout, she slurped it up joyfully, shiny tail swishing slightly. "Good girl." He patted her head before pulling himself to sit up more, grimacing at the pain that shot up his body. Turning to look at his side, he lifted his shirt to inspect the wound. It was still quite a large scar, but currently it was wrapped up again after he had given it some air that morning. It still hurt quite a bit when he moved, but definitely a lot less than it was the first few days, thankfully. Paul, George, Ringo, John had heard nothing of those boys that they fought that night so far - they hadn't come back to the Presley pub since then. At least not during Paul's shifts. He had already been paid for the two shifts he had done since his first, and it was glorious. He actually had money now! An proper amount enough to buy actual things! It was so enthralling. He could buy things on his own now. 

"Psst, Paulie!" There was a familiar voice that called from the doorway, snapping him from his thoughts with a jolt. Looking up, three grinning faces peered from the ajar barn door. His heart soared at the sight of John and he involuntarily grinned at seeing his friends, before they opened it fully and came through. John was first, helping Paul up and pulling him into a tight hug before smothering him in kisses, the younger's cheeks flushing deeply and a laugh escaping from him. God, John is so unbearably cute. They shared a shy grin before Paul pulled George and Ringo into separate hugs, glad to see his friends again.

"Oi, guys! Hey! What's up?" 

"Hey Macca! Nothin' much, me parents have gone on another trip into London fer a few days. They got bored of lil' ol' me." George rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around Ringo's shoulders. But there was a mischievous glint in his eyes and a small smirk was prevalent on his lips, and Paul could tell what he was thinking. John seemed to understand this too, and the price sighed, plonking himself down in the hay dramatically and gently pulling Paul to sit next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

"A party? Again, Geo? Ye always want ta have a fookin' party every time yer parents are out."

The high-cheekboned boy then allowed himself to fully grin, him and Ringo sitting down in front of their best friends. 

"Yeah! Ye all know I have the best parties. Why not take the opportunity?? Get wasted an' have fun. We are teenagers after all." He shrugged, searching their gaze to catch their reactions.

"Just an excuse fer ye ta get drunk again an' fuck Ringo, I reckon." Paul raised an eyebrow, catching John snicker in the corner of his eye before smiling cheekily himself. 

"Fuck off!" Both George's and Ringo's cheeks went beet red. "Anyroad, ye can't deny ye enjoy getting a little tipsy every now an' again, eh Paulie?" The youngest of the group nudged him with his foot.

"Yeah, fine. But a party isn't really tha' appealin' ta me right now, if 'm honest." 

"Me too. Maybe not tonight, sweetheart." Ringo agreed, turning to his boyfriend with a warm smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Tomorrow?" 

"Sure." The boy smiled at him cutely. Only with Ringo could George comply that quickly. No one else. He then turned to his friends. "So. Agreed on tomorrow, eight o' clock? I'll go round an' ask people to come." 

Everyone nodded in agreement. 

"Who's gonna come help me set up?" 

"Not me, no way. I have ta stay at home tomorrow, anyroad. Have wedding invitations ta write." John piped up, rolling his eyes as he spoke the third sentence. "Mimi wants me to fuckin' handwrite over 400 invitations within the next week an' a half! How the hell am I 'spose ta do tha'?" He threw his hands up in irritation and bewilderment. 

This caused Paul to glance at his boyfriend in slight surprise, heart sinking at the prospect. He forgot a lot of the time that John was about to get married in less than a year. 

"Already?" 

"Yeah." He turned to look at the younger, eyes turning soft and expression apologetic after a few seconds. "Don' worry, won't take long. 's okay, love, really." There was so much more he wanted to say, but held his tongue; Ringo and George were still with them, and he didn't want to come off as pitying to Paul. He had to show him he really did like him, that the marriage didn't mean anything to him. 

"D'ye want us ta leave? Feel like 'm intrudin' in a private moment.." Ringo stared at them in awkwardness. Him and George knew their friends relationship was much more strained than theirs, in the fact they come from extremely different backgrounds; John was the soon to be King of their city for christ's sake! It was so much harder for them to get around, and John had so much more pressure to get married and be forced into ruling than anyone else. 

"No, no. 's okay. Anyroad.." Paul brushed it off quickly, deciding to bring it up in private with John later on. "I'll help set up."

"Aye, thanks Paulie! Yer the greatest!" George grinned at him in gratitude, nudging his leg with his own again. 

"I know." He held up a hand, smug expression in full force. This caused John to chuckle, pulling his boyfriend closer with a soft grin. "Had ta tell da' about me scar today."

"Ye wha'? Ye told 'im about the stabbin', Paul??" George exclaimed, the three boys staring at him bug-eyed in terror. 

"No, no!" He quickly cut them off before they could say anymore, holding up his hands to try and calm them down. "I spun the truth a bit. Jus' said tha' I tripped an' cut meself on a nail that was stickin' out while tryna'  
bring the food to the pigs a few days ago." 

"What'd 'e say?" John queried.

"'e believed me, thank god. He asked why I didn't tell 'im sooner, though. Jus' said that I didn't want ta scare 'im." Paul shrugged slightly. 

"Oh, right. Good that he believed ye. If he found out about the fight.." Ringo trailed off.

"Yeah." 

"How's it goin', anyroad? With the whole hidin' the job from 'im an' havin' ta meet up with us in secret?" George laid down to rest his head in his boyfriend's lap, the older reaching to card his jewelled fingers through his thick locks. 

"It's been fuckin' hard, to say the least. But.. 'm managin', I guess. Have ta hide the money in a box I keep in me place." As Paul spoke of that, it jogged John's memory of when he came across Paul's hiding spot that night in the rain. He still wondered what was inside, other than his work money - but he wouldn't intrude. That was Paul's personal stuff; it wasn't his right to know what was inside, even if they were dating now. They were allowed to not give access to everything that each other owned. 

"Oh, right. Yer gonna be rich, Paul! Wow! Can ye buy me a new house in the rich estate? Pleassseee? I'll do anythin'!" George attempted to make puppy dog eyes at his best friend, holding his hands up in a praying motion with his bottom lip stuck out. It was a grotesque sight. To put it lightly. 

"Ye don't have ta do anythin'! Except stop makin' that ugly face, fer fuck's sake. It's scary." The sable-haired boy grimaced, swatting his giggling friend's foot away. 

"Wha'? I think me pleadin' face is absolutely delightful. Wouldn't ye agree, babe?" He gazed up at his boyfriend expectantly. 

Ringo knew better than to disagree. "'Course, my love." He smiled down at George and poked his nose, who responded by scrunching it up and smiling cutely at him,  
giggling. 

"Ugh, yer lovey-doveyness is sickenin'. Let's go somewhere else an' leave 'em to it, eh?" John smirked at them before turning to Paul, standing up and holding a hand out to help him up. There was a certain glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down his spine, heartbeat picking up as he gripped onto his hand, electricity shooting through it as he was helped up; ignoring the harsh pain shooting up his side. "You two, out." The prince nodded his head in the direction of the door, making eye contact with their friends briefly before leading Paul to the ladder that led to the second floor where they kept all the grains. 

"Oi! Kickin' us out is very rude, ye know! We're guests." Ringo mocked offence, the two standing up and puffing up their chests.

"Yeah, yeah. See ye guys tomorrow at the party!" Paul waved them off with a smile, seeing that John was growing increasingly impatient, itching to get into his pants probably. 

As soon as they both left, there was a pair of familiar lips that collided with his, hands grabbing his cheeks to hold him there. Breath temporarily sucked from his lungs, Paul wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's waist, immediately melting into the kiss, every sense heightened at the feeling, electricity shooting through the excited pair. 

"God, I've been wantin' to do that ever since I saw ye today." John breathed out once they parted, only a few inches away, breath mixing in the air. He reaches run a hand across Paul's exposed collarbone and down his chest, causing the younger to shiver under his touch again, cheeks flushing red as heat began to gather in his groin at the prospect of what was about to happen. He was only in a plain black t-shirt and overalls which had been let down to only hug his waist, while John was in a clean-pressed mint shirt with a vest, trousers and shoes, and a half undone tie. Not like the prince cared about it getting a little dirty, though. 

"Me too." Paul felt his heart race, the need to kiss his boyfriend suddenly too great; pulling him in again, their lips moulded together perfectly. The kiss grew quickly heated, though, and the younger quickly pulled away and gestured to the ladder leading to the second floor. "Quick, up here - it's out of sight." 

John complied immediately, quickly picking the doe-eyed boy up, making him wrap his arms and legs around the front of his body, hanging off him like a koala as he made his way up. Once they had made it to the top, the auburn-haired boy quickly moved to place Paul down on a soft patch of hay below, careful of his wound, the two letting out shy giggles which died off as their lips connected again. Hands running across each other's bodies, aching to touch anywhere they could reach; John pulled Paul flush against him with a half-groan, skin growing hotter and hotter at each other's touch. Every sense alive with need, the auburn-haired boy ran his hands across Paul's sides. But there was a hiss that escaped from the younger's mouth when his fingers brushed his left side, causing their lips to disconnect and for him to pull his hand away as if he had been burned.

"Oh fuck- 'm so sorry, Macca- shit! Did I hurt ye?-" John grew increasingly distraught at the thought of hurting his boyfriend, eyes searching his face for signs of pain and reaching to cup his cheeks worriedly. It endeared Paul greatly, butterflies fluttering in his stomach and a grin creeping across his face. 

"Hey, hey, love.... 's okay. Ye didn't mean to." He quickly reassured, reaching to wrap his arms around John's neck. "But... it hurts to move too much."

There was silence that hung between them for a moment, the cogs turning incessantly in the prince's mind, before he smirked down at Paul, suddenly beginning to slide down his body until he came face to face with his boyfriend's growing erection. 

"I'll take care of ye, kitten. Trust me." 

"W-what?-" Paul stuttered, cheeks immediately flushing deeper red as he began to realise what John meant - but there wasn't much time to think about it. John reached and began to palm his crotch, eyes locked with his, and all questions flew out the window, an involuntary moan escaping his lips as pleasure shot up his entire body, overtaking the dull throb of his injury. "Oh-I-I-" 

"Shh.. I got ye, love." John quickly sat up again, working to unbutton the overalls and hooking a finger around the side, ready to pull it down. He quickly glanced back up into Paul's eyes, pupils blown wide, silently asking for permission. Not trusting himself to speak, the younger nodded eagerly, heart racing, skin sizzling with arousal and nervousness before he adjusted his position to be more comfortable. 

Slowly, the older pulled the overalls down and off, revealing his briefs and hairy legs, which had begun to get increasingly more hairy in the recent months. Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, Paul turned his gaze away, cheeks flaming. But all doubt was diminished when John reached to connect their lips again, hand resting on his chin before smiling at him warmly, eyes soft as he gazed at his boyfriend.

"So beautiful, Paul. You're beautiful." 

It was all he needed. The older slid back down his body, and suddenly pressed his nose to his upper thigh was a sigh, pressing kisses to each one, going higher and higher until he reached Paul's now fully hard dick. A shiver ran back up his spine as he watched his boyfriend below him, breath shallow. The fact that John barely broke their staring contest was extremely sexy to Paul. A hand snaked up his hip and fingers tugged on his underwear until suddenly they were pulled off, his erection now springing free, hissing as the cold air hit it. 

Throwing his head back, Paul could barely wait any longer. His entire body aching with need and lust, basically entirely at the whim of John, fisting the strands of hay below him so tight his knuckles turned white. 

"John, please-" His desire-filled voice sounded in the almost silent barn, husky with arousal and want. "I want you." 

There was no need to say anymore. John locked eyes with him again, his own half lidded, and he grabbed onto Paul's dick with a strong grip, taking a few tentative tugs at first. 

"Fuck-" The younger groaned, reaching to claw at his thighs with a hiss, immense pleasure overthrowing him like a tidal wave, limbs shaking slightly as his entire body grew hot. There was a tentative, wet tongue that swirled around the tip before licking a stripe up the length, exploring and testing the waters, for they were reaching the next step in the sexual part of their relationship. "Oh god-" Gulping in a breath, the demand for touch was so great; reaching to gather John's fluffy locks in his hands, he tugged his boyfriend's head gently closer, trying to express his needs through actions, not able to form proper words. 

Knowing exactly what he wanted, John then took the entire thing in his mouth, straight to the base. Shock struck through Paul's body as he witnessed it; how the hell was he not gagging? But, all thoughts flew out the window when his boyfriend began to bob expertly up and down, teeth just brushing against it. Hands coming up to fondle his balls. The younger was almost delirious with bliss, barely able to keep his composure, lamenting moans echoing throughout the walls as he threw his head back, the heat between them so intense and bright; sweat began to build up on Paul's neck and forehead, rolling down his chest. After several seconds of sucking, there was a muffled moan that vibrated against his dick, causing pleasure to shoot up his body again, another groan escaping. John was jerking himself off simultaneously, and the younger wished he could reach, but he could do nothing but writhe in euphoria under his grip.

"Oh, fuck, John! Ugh!" 

Precum spilled from the tip, mixing with the saliva that dripped down his length, the prince picking up the pace, expertly causing Paul to unfold before him and become a blabbering mess, chanting his name over and over again like a mantra before the salty liquid spilled from the tip. Expecting John to stop, he got ready to move away, but instead he forcefully held himself there, swallowing every drop. After a few seconds, the older came too, coming off Paul's dick with a pop and huffing into his thigh.

"Oh my god, oh man..." Paul croaked out, the aftermath of pleasure still quivering through his body, leaving him absolutely spent and aching. "Wow. H-how... how did ye not choke?" Gathering enough energy to lift his head, he gazed at his boyfriend through hazy lens, holding out a hand and gesturing for him to come up to his eye level, which he did so, using the end of his pant leg to clean themselves up.

"I...have no gag reflex." His voice was quiet, almost bashful - clearing his vision as much as he could, Paul saw that John had wrapped an arm around his boyfriend, the other drawing lazy circles on his chest, gaze stubbornly fixated on a strand of hay below him. His hair was sticking up in all directions, the ends wet with sweat which was beginning to dry on his face and neck; his lips were swollen and red, slicked with saliva, shy smile pulling on them, cheeks flushed a deep red. It was a sight that Paul could definitely get used to. Lazy grin emerging on his face, he pulled the older into his embrace, pressing kisses all across his face, just for the sake of being able to do it. 

"I'm well lucky, aren't I, then?" 

"Ugh! I knew it, ye were jus' usin' me fer sex! Men these days..." John smirked down at him, slowly getting up and lifting his arms in a long stretch, arching his back like a cat. This caused his shirt to ride up, exposing his stomach and v-line. Paul could see that his boyfriend knew exactly what he was doing, impassive expression on his face but his eyes sparkling playfully - and Paul couldn't resist lifting his foot and poking it, causing him to double over with an embarrassed laugh, jumping a few steps away. "Hey! Cheeky git."

"Teasin' bastard!"

"Don't insult me, I jus' sucked yer dick!"

"More than ye'll ever get." 

"Ow. 'm so hurt." His joyful expression didn't reflect his words, though, and the prince reached and helped the younger up, both helping brush the straw sticking to each other and smoothing down their appearance. "Ye'll pay fer breakin' me heart, McCartney."

"Yer arrested, Lennon." Paul grinned smugly at him, wrapping arms around his neck, John's moving to rest on his hips.

"Why?" He decided to play into whatever the younger was trying to do.

"Fer stealin' me heart." 

"Okay, that was really bad." A snicker escaped his lips, growing louder until he was leaning against his shoulder, his own shaking with silent laughter. "Never try ta tell me a pick up line ever again."

"Noted. I'll do it every day fer the rest of our lives then, just to annoy ye." Paul winked.

"I won't mind." The older grinned at him before glancing towards the windows. Seeing the sun had already risen higher in the sky, he checked his watch; "Fuck, 's already midday. 'spose ta start writin' the invitations today." Running a hand through his unkempt hair, John attempted to get it back into his original state. 

"Oh, d'ye have ta go?" Paul's voice deflated slightly at the prospect, hands halfheartedly balling his boyfriend's rumpled shirt in his fists as if to stop him from running away right then and there. 

"'m sorry, Macca..." He reached to cup his boyfriend's cheek with an apologetic smile. "I have ta go. See ye tonight, though, yeah? Come out ta mine." Their lips connected for a few seconds, pulling away and resting their foreheads against each other's.

"Yeah, 'course. See ye then, love." They exchanged a grin and one last kiss before parting, John helping Paul one last time down the ladder before sneaking off, going around the side of the house and disappearing from sight. 

Watching him go, a feeling of lovesickness coursing through him, excitement jolting in his chest at the thought of seeing his boyfriend again later that night, uncontrollable grin prevalent on his face, so big that it hurt. I can't wait to see him again.

With that, Paul began to half limp out of the barn, saying a soft goodbye to Gin before shutting the door, making his way through the coops and fields of crops. In the distance, he heard a familiar voice calling his name, and he glanced up in surprise - his brother Mike was hurrying over to him, his distant figure growing closer and closer as he came up to Paul.

"Paul! Paul, I need ta talk to ye." He was short of breath, leaning on his knees for support.

Fuck. What could he mean? Immediately panic began to rise in his throat like bile at the possibilities. Mike's face was oddly serious, something that wasn't usually seen from him. His thoughts quickly went to about him and John, always constantly worried that people had seen them together or something. But he quickly swallowed it all to the back of his mind, taking a deep breath and putting on a facade of vague interest.

"Oh? What about?" He asked, moving to adjust his bandage to give something for his fingers to do so they wouldn't shake; Mike watched him with a sombre expression before he leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper -

"I saw you. With that boy." He glanced to the barn, beginning to drag Paul towards it hurriedly.

"What?? What the fuck-" Paul's heartbeat picked up, horror coursing through him at the thought of them being so careless to be seen. Fuck, how the hell did he see them? He thought they were being careful enough to not be seen. Then, if Mike saw them, who else could have? The thought of anyone else having seen them was too terrifying to think about. "Mike! What do ye mean? What the hell?"

"I mean what I said. I saw ye an' that boy.... like, y'know." His cheeks tinted pink and his eyes were averted to the floor. 

"Like what?? How much did ye see?" Paul almost screeched, throwing his hands up in frustration, staring bug-eyed at his brother in shock. "Fuck! Oh my god oh my god... this is bad.." He began to wring his hands back and forth, looking around slightly as if he expected the police to burst out from the shadow and capture him right then and there. 

"Uh. N-not that much, if tha's what ye mean-" Mike started, stumbling over his words nervously before moving closer, placing his hands on Paul's shoulders in attempt to calm him down. "Paul, calm down-"

"Don't tell me to do shit, Mike!" He hissed, running a hand through his hair and clutching at it in anxiety. "If ye have the fuckin' coppers waitin' fer me, just hurry up an' get on with it."

"Wh- no! I don't! Paul, snap out of it!" His voice rose slightly, moving to stop Paul's worried pacing. He stared eye-to-eye with his brother, stern expression softening with a nervous smile. "It's.... okay. I-... I don't really-" He licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "I don't understand it, but.. I don't hate it. I don't know enough about it to hate it." 

"R...really?" Paul blinked in surprise. He didn't think Mike would take it like that. "Ye.. don't hate it? Or me?" His anxiety began to lessen, thanking the gods that he hadn't launched the cops on him.

"No, no. I could never hate you. No matter what, I could never hate ye." He shook his head fervently, moving away to sit on a nearby bench with a sigh. "But... this is bad , Paul. Ye know that this is really dangerous."

"I know, I know. So far.. nothin' too bad has happened. We've been careful."

"Yeah, but I saw ye guys. Wha' if it was one o' the Asher's? Or da'? How would da' even react to tha'?" Mike queried with a worried gaze directed at Paul, who had moved to sit next to him, hands fiddling nervously with his pant leg. That thought had barely even come up in his mind.

"I-I dunno. It was stupid. I thought we were alright. We won't make a mistake like tha' again."

"Yeah, I hope so. But, still.. well, who is 'e anyroad?"

"Wha'?" Paul turned to his brother, raising an eyebrow.

"Tha' dude. Yer boyfriend, or whoever. Who is 'e? His clothes looked really expensive, he kinda looked like tha' John Lennon bloke. Ye know, the prince o' Liverpool?" The younger shrugged slightly. 

"Uhm..." Paul coughed slightly. How to break it to him... "He kind of is."

"What?"

"He is John Lennon."

"Ye wha'? Yer-" Mike stared at him in utter shock. "Yer datin' the prince of fucking Liverpool? How?? How'd ye meet 'im? Doesn't 'e have a wife or somethin'?"

"Yes, through George, an' yes." 

"Wha'? How'd George bloody meet 'im? Why didn't ye tell me ye know him? Ye could get him ta buy a bunch o' stuff fer ye!" Mike continued to bombard him with questions, and Paul sighed, trying to process them as fast as he could.

"George is a servant at the manor, remember? An' I couldn't tell ye, I thought ye'd get mad I was associatin' with royalty or wha'ever. An' our relationship isn't like tha'. I actually like 'im, y'know."

"Ohh, right." Mike fell silent for a second. "So, ye actually like 'im? An' he likes ye back?"

"Well, yeah. Or else we wouldn't be datin', duh." Paul chuckled slightly, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall behind them.

"Wow.. how are ye guys gettin' around? 'm assumin' a prince's life isn't very private."

"Well, fer now we've been alright. On John's end, it is a lot harder.. but we're managin'. There's been a few close calls an' rumours in the papers an' stuff. But, we're willin' ta make the effort, y'know?" Paul was quiet, expression brooding as he remembered what John had told him about what had been in the newspapers about him.

"Wow. I don't understand it, honestly. A guy.. lovin' another guy, like- romantically. It's jus' bafflin'. How does it work? How-" He paused, genuine confusion on his face. "How do ye guys have sex? Or go out on dates?"

"It isn't much different to a man an' a woman." The older chuckled slightly. "But.. there is a lot more hidin'. Sneakin' around. Always on the lookout fer danger.. it's a lot harder. Ye always have to assume the worst, tha' anyone ye tell is gonna dob ye in to the cops." He grew more forlorn as he went on, eyes darkening with emotion as he spoke. Shaking the thoughts away quickly, he attempted to change the subject, his cheeks flushed at the second last question. "The sex is.. uh. I dunno. We haven't gotten tha' far just yet. Not lookin' to anytime soon."

"Oh.." Mike was silent, looking nervous and almost pitying. "That must.. like- suck a lot. 'm sorry about all that."

"'s okay." Was what Paul settled on eventually. "Anyroad.." He slowly stood up, wincing as pain shot up his torso from his wound. "Go help da' out to make lunch. 'm gonna brush an' feed the pigs." His expression turned blank, shoving all his emotions and worries to the back of his mind as much as he could, leaving it for another time. 

"Okay." Mike stood up as well, turning to his brother one last time. "I love ye, Paul. Yer a good brother." He smiled, bringing his brother in for a hug, the older hugging back with a smile of his own.

"Love ye too, Mike."

✧✧✧✧✧

The scratch of pen against paper was all that was heard in the room. Thick, dark ink displayed in swirling, perfect cursive on spotless, pure white paper. John’s hand was cramping up at the incessant writing, aching pain shooting through his wrist from having been in the same position for too long. 

He had been writing invitations for hours now, only having just gotten halfway through ‘c’ at this point; the pile of unwritten letters was much bigger than the written, but one by one, he was dragging through them. He didn’t know why Mimi wanted him to handwrite every single damn letter, but there was no way he could back out of it - her reasoning had been that she wanted it to be “personal” and he had to put the effort into it if he wanted it to be actually good, he was supposed to care about his guests; which he couldn’t really bring himself to do, if he was honest. But it was his wedding after all, he should put as much effort as possible into it!

Scoffing to himself, he began on the next line;

Dear Mr and Mrs Clairevon,  
The Liverpool royal family invi

“Fuck!” He hissed out in fury. His pen had slipped and made an awful cracking noise, ink spilling from it and splashing across the page, smudging everything. Looking at the tip, he saw it had broken, one of the nubs having snapped off. He sighed angrily to himself, tossing it and the destroyed paper into the bin with a grumble, getting up off his seat to go and wipe his ink-covered hand on a nearby handkerchief. He couldn’t afford to make many mistakes; there was only a few spares he could use. And now he had to find a new goddamn pen! Thank god the ink bottle was undisturbed.

Stretching his sore limbs and shaking his aching hand, stretching the fingers to try and get feeling back into them, he sat back down, opening the drawer of the study desk and rummaging for a new pen. It was so mind-numbingly boring, this task. He couldn’t long more to see Paul - the thought of seeing him that night brought excitement back into his irritated state. But he had to wait. It was only 4pm or so, there was a bit to go before he could see him. It kept him going, though, telling himself that he has to get through these damn letters and once he was done, seeing Paul was his reward. There was no point in arguing with Mimi about the invitations; she was set in her ways, how to go about it. Her and Cynthia were basically planning the entire thing, asking for his advice or opinion on things occasionally - but mainly just doing it themselves. He was fine with that, really. Nothing about the wedding or the marriage appealed to him, he was fine with Cynthia and Mimi doing pretty much the entire thing themselves. 

Speaking of Cynthia though, there was a knock on his door - when he went to see who it was, it was the woman in question. He welcomed the distraction and smiled at her, letting her into the study room. 

“Hey, Cyn. How’s it goin’?” He queried amiably, moving to sit back down at the desk, grabbing another paper and dipping the new pen in the bottle of ink, getting ready to continue writing.

“Oh, nothing, really. Just came to see how you were doing. The maids are nice company, but I’m feeling a bit bored. What about you? Mimi killing you with those invitations?” She went to plonk down on the sofa, adjusting her perfectly styled hair, curling a lock around her finger in boredom. 

“I understand. An’ yeah, I can barely fuckin’ write anymore. Me hand’s crampin’ up.” He sighed, fingers immediately beginning to ache as he wrote, the letters coming easy with a practiced hand. 

“Wow, that must be hard. Why does she want you to write them all yourself, anyways?” She titled her head, watching his hunched figure curiously. 

“Somethin’ about puttin’ the effort into it, an’ that it was more personal an’ polite to write them all meself. It’s me own marriage, after all. It should be from me, apparently.” His voice reflected his deflated, disinterested state. 

“Ah. I’m sorry, John. I would help out if I was allowed to. But women aren’t really supposed to know how to read or write.” She chuckled humourlessly, twirling a jewelled bracelet around her finger with half-lidded eyes.

He turned to look at her for the first time since letting her in, leaning against his chair with another sigh. She was so beautiful, and really intelligent; she did know how to read and write, unlike most women, having taught herself with help from her aunt. She was funny, she cared about him too; she was so understanding. So why did he have to not love her back? Shaking it away quickly, he shook his head. Because you have Paul, dumbass. He’s so much more. Cynthia was lovely, but she wasn’t Paul. She could never be.

“Sorry. Well, at least ye know how to.”

“Yes. Anyways, I’m going to ask for some tea. Would you like any?” She stood up, brushing herself off with a polite smile directed his way.

“Yes, please. Just one sugar.” He smiled gratefully back, before turning back to his page, continuing writing. 

“I know. Be back in a moment.” She left the room. 

Fuck, I’ve had enough of this. He huffed to himself, putting down the pen and pushing the letter away, leaning to rest his head on his hands before dragging them across his face with a groan. He wanted nothing more than to just be in Paul’s arms at that moment. Forget about the stupid marriage and Mimi and having to write invitations and everything. It was scary to think that this was going to be his life once he was king. Letters, being married, expected to have children, make ‘decisions’. Not really. Kings and queens were basically just figureheads at that point. They had no real power anymore. It wasn’t what he wanted; he had always known that was his fate from the start, but the fact that it was drawing closer than ever shot fear into his heart. 

Gazing out the window in front of him, he spotted a blackbird that shot past it, gliding over the garden and landing in a nearby oak tree, disappearing among the leaves. He wished sometimes that he could be a bird. Able to fly anywhere he pleased, no responsibilities. Just free. He felt like he was the opposite of that for most of his life; a bird trapped in a cage, really. Trying desperately get free, but to no avail. The only way to escape was to slips through the cracks. 

Cynthia came back, a servant carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups, milk, etc. He thanked him before he left, the door shutting behind him. Standing up, he sat on the sofa across from his fiancé, dipping one cube of sugar into his tea and stirring it until it was dissolved. 

That was how the rest of the afternoon was spent; drinking their tea and making idle chatter. The last things that lingered on John’s mind as the sun sunk below the horizon was the impending prospect of meeting Paul and his impending doom of becoming king.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really should not have stayed up  
until 4:38am to write this but   
yknow what fuck it i dont care at  
this point. EeEEE enjoy this chap  
a little smut for yall heheh ;;) anyways enjoy this i dont have much to say except i love u all so much !!!! 💖💗💕💕🥺🥺👉👈 gn gamers JSJJSJA i really need  
to fucking get my sleep schedule in order i cant remember the last time i was able to go to bed before 2am. ok shutting up now lol byeeee<3


	29. twenty eight.

april 1859

"Aye! Welcome, come in." 

It was the day of the party. The sun had already set, darkness that was as black as the ink on John's paper enveloping all around them like the comforting hold of a mother - accompanied by the twinkle of stars. A familiar sight during the night, of course. The moon was particularly bright that night, casting long shadows on the people's faces. 

Excited, bright chatter and jazzy tunes filled the prince's buzzing ears, the many candles and lamps hung all around piercing into his vision, the dancing bodies of the guests distorting it. Beer in hand, he leant against the kitchen table, Paul next to him with an easy smile. The boy was seemingly in a good mood, goodnaturedly making conversation with people and humming along to the songs. The couple were now on their second beer, cheeks flushed and bodies warm with alcohol. John couldn't say the same for himself, though. Ever since he had seen Stu arrive at the party, his mood had soured considerably and he had kept to the kitchen since, avoiding conversation with most people and taking to glaring at the man from a distance. He hadn't spoken to him since his breakdown in the corridor, when the man has walked out on him when he was most vulnerable. Only had crossed uneasy gazes from across rooms or hallways every now and again. 

The artist was pretty much having the time of his life, Astrid beside him with a lovesick grin of her own. He was supposed to leave for Germany the day after tomorrow at dawn. The reason why he was here was that George was amiable friends with him, and John kind of wished that his friend had not invited him. 

But instead, he opted to stick next to Paul's side and brood, a hand subtly resting on the small of his boyfriend's back, ready to pull away the moment someone enters the kitchen and goes to the sink behind them. 

"Oi McCartney! Gear party, eh?" A certain Mick Jagger sauntered over with a drunken grin, probably already tipsy even though the party was only an hour old. Mick didn't recognise John, which was good - he was in disguise similar to the one he had when going to the bar for Paul's audition - the auburn-haired boy only watched on with mild interest, still preoccupied with Stuart and Astrid.

"Yeah. Ye know Geo always throws the best parties." Paul agreed with a wiggle of an eyebrow, taking another sip of his beer. 

"Dunno where 'e gets half the stuff fer it, though. No one can get that much bloody beer all on their own."

"Mostly from Rings, actually. His parents always 'ave a feasible stash too. But George's place 's better to have parties at 'cause his parents leave home a lot an' he gets stuck by 'imself."

"Wow. Surprised 'e hasn't been grounded or somethin'. 'e's only sixteen."

The two continued to chatter away, their voices fading into the background as John rested his head in his hands, taking another long swig of his beer - finishing it off - when Stuart laughed a particularly loud laugh and leaned on Astrid's shoulder. Goddamnit, this party is the last bloody thing the prince needed. Seeing Stu just brought back bad memories and all he wanted to do was take Paul away and screw him into next week. Rage was beginning to mix into the pool of sadness in his stomach, all the emotions that had been building up inside him like a bottle about to burst; he knew that there was a storm brewing and he was ready to up and punch the artist within an inch of his life so he knew what it felt like to be fucked over by someone.

So, what does he do? He drowns the emotions in alcohol. Or, at least. Tries. 

"Oi, oi- John! Slow down.." Paul's voice drifted back into his mind, distracting him temporarily with a warm hand on his shoulder. He had already grabbed the nearest half empty beer and drunk it without even noticing. 

"Chill out, Macca... 's fine. Loosen up a bit." John placated his boyfriend with a goofy side-smile and stood to grab another one, immediately popping the top off before taking four large gulps, burping afterwards with a small "oops" - only one third left of the amount in it. 

He could feel the younger's gaze boring into him, expression troubled and slightly sullen. Instead, he ignored it and flashed a grin, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer with a content sigh. The alcohol was already beginning to rush to his head, feeling his limbs grow heavy and vision blurring even with glasses. Paul tensed under his touch and pushed him gently away, gaze darting worriedly around as they were in public. 

"Eyyy, don' worry, love! 's all good....let's jus' get a lil' tipsy tonigh', eh? 'Ave some ff-ffffun!" He snaked his arm back around Paul's lower waist, hand balling his shirt up in his fist possessively. The boy blushed profusely and gently pulled him off, whispering harshly through clenched teeth.

"We're in public, John. Seriously, don't." 

"C'mon..." He drawled, draining the rest of his bottle and grabbing another one. Keeping his boyfriend firmly at his side, he made his way through the crowd of dancing people, making a beeline for Stuart and Astrid. 

"Oh! Hey, John." Stuart spotted the man making his way over, recognising him through the disguise with a smile - Astrid smiled as well, just nodding instead of speaking - before he spotted Paul next to his ex-lover. "Hmm.. who are ye? Wait.. ye must be the infamous Paul!" His expression was scarily friendly, and John grew more and more enraged at that, fuelled by repressed emotions and alcohol-induced fury. "'m Stuart." The artist held out a hand for Paul to shake, which he did with growing uneasiness. Stuart... where had the raven-haired boy heard that name before? Could this be.... one of John's previous lovers? 

"Yeah. 'e's me boyfriend now." The prince spoke a little too loudly, catching the attention of a few people behind them.

"Wh- John!" Paul gasped in horror, freezing against his side and pulling away with terror freezing his blood. "H-He's jus' drunk off 'is arse-" 

"Oh- really?" Stuart's expression faded from happiness to something unreadable, eyes darkening but showing no signs of sadness or anger. "Ah. I think ye mentioned somethin' about 'im...." 

"Yeah. 'E's pretty, eh?.....g-good form..." John had grabbed Paul again and wrapped both arms around him, one basically squeezing his arse; feeling infuriated and embarrassed, he shoved his boyfriend away with a huff and a piercing glare. Stuart watched on with irritation starting to cloud his face, Astrid looking awkward and terribly uncomfortable, trying her best to sneak away and not get involved (understandably). 

"John, wha' the fuck? Is this..." The younger boy trailed off, the cogs working away in his mind and connecting all the dots. "Is 'e one of yer previous lovers, or somethin'?" His voice had dropped to a hissing whisper. "Are ye tryin' to get back at 'im with me?"

"Wh..wha'? N-nnnnn-no..." The prince slurred, suddenly chugging the rest of his beer out of nowhere and chucking it somewhere behind him, glaring drunkenly down at Stuart. "'m showin' 'im tha' I don' need 'is fffffuckin' pity or stupid advice." As he spoke he snatched the beer off of a random person next to him and began to chug the entire thing, the person protesting with a glare. 

"John, stop it! Yer fuckin' gonna throw up!" His boyfriend attempted to knock it from his hand but John dodged it, finishing it and making another loud burp, beginning to sway on his feet. 

"I never pitied ye, John!" Stuart hissed, beginning to get angry himself. "I tried ta help ye. 'm sorry I broke it off, but I fell in love with Astrid. I can't help that." He glanced around for his girlfriend, but the girl had already bolted, not looking to get involved with her boyfriend and his ex's spat. 

"Yeah, I don' care ab-bout tha' annnnymore!" The drunken boy's voice rose considerably, people around them beginning to stare in curiosity. "I 'ave P-Paul now. Wh-hhh-wha' I care 'bout now is 'ow ye stabbed me in th' fookin' back! Ye didn' care 'bout 'ow I felt-" All he could think of was punch Stuart punch Stuart Paul's smooth thighs punch Stuart-

"John! Fucking stop it right now, ye daft cunt! We're leavin'!" Paul stepped in front of him, seeing that the two were beginning to square up, hands curling to fists - he then promptly clutched his boyfriend's arm (who was then calling incomprehensible curses and mumbles in Stuart's general direction) and dragged him out of the house, sick of his bullshit. 

"O-oiii....mmm, I l-like it when ye get angry l'ke tha' Maccy..." He giggled childishly, wrapping his arms around Paul and pulling him flush against him once he had stopped being dragged, now behind the bushes next to George's house. 

"John Winston Lennon!" Paul growled, sounding eerily like Mimi, shoving him off and placing his hands on his hips with the McCartney Stare glaring him down. "What the fuck is wrong with ye? Why were ye bloody doin' that? Ye've been ta parties where 'e's there. Why now?"

"I..uhm.." The prince struggled to speak, feeling his stomach churning horribly as the very large amount of alcohol he drunk within 5 minutes began to take hold. "S'cause'e was an'arssssseee..... t'me.. left mm-mmmm-me all alone. Tha' day I fought wi-with Cyn. W-when I needed someone.... t'tell me it w's'gonna be okay." Tears had begun to well at the memory and he fell against the wall, feeling the vomit getting ready to explode from his mouth.

"I- oh..." Paul spoke eventually, having fallen silent - his angry stance quickly fading as his features softened. "'m sorry. Honestly. If I'd known... I'd 'ave been there-" 

Interrupting his great speech, John suddenly fell to his hands and knees and promptly spewed up all the snacks and beer he had consumed within an hour and a half; Paul jumped away so it wouldn't land on his shoes before leaning down and rubbing his boyfriend's back comfortingly, whispering soft words of comfort and helping him get it all out. Once he was done, the younger boy helped him back up and began to basically carry him back home, John mumbling incomprehensible words about how much he'd love to bury his head in between Paul's thighs or something of the sort. 

The doe-eyed boy said nothing, though, just snuck in through the back entrance and gently undressed John, helping him into clean, non-vomit-covered clothes and tucking him into bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out. 

The auburn-haired boy never saw the strange expression on Paul's face; softest eyes imaginable, the smallest of smiles on his face and flushed cheeks, something sparkling there that would make anyone's heart race and knees wobble. A soft kiss pressed to his forehead before he made his way back to his own home, not being able to stay there as Jim might see that his son was not in his own bed asleep. 

✧✧✧✧✧

"Prince Lennon!" There was fervent hands shaking him, piercing blinding light clawing its way into his mind and causing his skull to feel like it was swelling and splintering apart. "Prince Lennon, are you alright? Can you hear me?" 

"Fff-" Gasping for breath, he crawled away from the person's grasp, wanting nothing more than to sink into darkness and never have to exist again. His throat felt as dry as the Sahara desert, and he felt kind of like stabbing whoever woke him up. Sticky eyes slowly began to open, he let out a hiss - almost like a vampire - at the light and buried under the covers, head pounding horribly and nostrils feeling raw, stomach churning.

"Mr Lennon! It is past midday, you did not wake for breakfast! Are you alright? You look awfully tired.." The voice was more quiet this time, and he suspected it was a maid or something coming to check on him. He laid there for a few moments more, trying his best to will the hangover away. What do you need again to recover from a hangover? Water. Right. That's what I need. 

"Please, may I have some, uh- water.." His voice was extremely hoarse and he broke into a coughing fit after speaking. Peeking out from behind the blanket, he spotted the maid's blurry figure standing above him, and he remembered that he needed to get his glasses... 

"Of course, your majesty-" The woman bowed low and hurried out of the room. Sighing, he slowly began to sat up, fumbling blindly for his spectacles on his bedside table before slipping it on; the world slowly becoming focused in front of him. 

"Fuck, me 'ead..." John brought a hand to his forehead with a groan. What the hell happened last night? The last thing he could remember was seeing Stuart laughing with Astrid, then feeling really angry for some reason (probably because of that) then Paul glaring him down with his hands on his hips. That sent a cold shiver down his spine, and not the good kind. What had he done?

"Your majesty, your water-" The maid knocked politely on his door before making her way in, gazing at the prince warily as she handed him a large glass of water. Sweet, sweet, water... immediately he took it and quickly chugged the entire cup of heaven's lifeblood. 

"Ah.. thank you." He spoke eventually, lying there with a content smile before looking back up at the maid with slight embarrassment. He could see that the woman knew exactly what had caused his weird demeanour, and he smiled sheepishly at her. "Uhm.. also, no need to call me 'your highness' or 'prince Lennon'. I hate it. John is fine."

"Oh, I- okay, your h- I mean. John." The maid blinked in shock, but her expression warmed up at what he said. "Is there anything else I can do for your hangover?"

"I- what? I-It's not a-"

"No need to lie to me, John. I've known you since you were just a little boy. I can tell when someone's hungover." She chuckled softly before patting him on the arm, getting up and beginning to walk out of the room. She stopped at the door and spoke; "Also, the Queen requests your attendance to lunch." She then left. John suddenly felt bad that he couldn't remember her name..

"Oh great.." The auburn-haired boy fell back against the luscious pillows for a moment, letting his heavy eyes close again. He decided to make a mental list in his head; 

Pros and cons of going to lunch. Cons; seeing Mimi. Hungover. Seeing Cynthia. Having to act normal. Probably be lectured about something he didn't do when he was supposed to. Pros; not being slaughtered, at least. And.. food.

Guess I have to go to lunch, then. 

Slowly sitting up, he massaged the back of his aching neck as he dragged himself out of bed; first, he needed to find a new change of clothes. After doing so, picking out a beige shirt and a brown vest, trousers and socks. He decided not to bother with a tie or shoes, not really caring at all. Then, he sniffed his armpits - and was absolutely repulsed by the stench of B.O and alcohol - before making his way to the bath, having to rush a little so he wouldn't be too late to the lunch. Mimi was very strict on times. Once that was done, he dressed and made his way to the dining room.

"C'mon, John, you can do this.." He muttered to himself once he made it to the entrance, standing in front of it and nervously wringing his hands. His head still throbbed with pain and he was pretty sure his breath tasted like putrid, rotting meat - but he still continued to psych himself up. Also, note to self - ask Paul what the FUCK happened last night. Or George. Whoever was sober enough to remember.

"Ah, John! Come, sit." Mimi spoke up with a gesture to the dining table when she saw her nephew slinking his way inside. Cynthia was also there with John's half-sisters and his fiance's parents. Her Parents. He froze in place for a second, eyes wide like dinner plates. Her parents??? What the actual fuck? He didn't remember when they came over. Shit, maybe last night... he had made up some excuse to Mimi about visiting Pete so he could go to the party. 

"I- hello. I am sorry, I didn't know you two had arrived!" He immediately went into people-pleaser mode, cursing silently when he realised he was wildly underdressed for visitors. "I apologise for my attire- I can go and quickly freshen up-"

"No, no, no bother, your majesty!" Mrs. Powell waved him off with a polite smile, and the prince took that as permission, basically, to take a seat next to Cynthia, who greeted him with a small smile, before continuing to eat her spaghetti; unlike her father, who was staring at him in disapproval. Ugh, your majesty. I hate it. 

He struggled not to scoff and just took some spaghetti and twirled it around his fork, slurping some up. 

"Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Powell! I hope the weather served well on the trip? Did you have a nice slumber?" Knowing that he had to make conversation, he did his best despite his hangover, faking a smile in their direction before biting into his some-sort-of-spaghetti. 

"Yes, definitely! Spring is a wonderful time of the year. And also..." His mother-in-law's voice trailed off into the background as he lost interest in anything around him, mind drifting back to last night. Fucking Stuart... he hoped that Paul wasn't too mad at him. From seeing that faint flashback of Paul glaring at him - what he had done might not have been too great. He would have to go over after lunch and see him, and try to make it up again. And also find out what the hell happened.

"John! I have something to tell you." Mimi's stern voice cut into his thoughts and he looked up, feeling irritation bubbling in his throat. Mimi was very much getting on his nerves today, more than usual. 

"Yes, mother?" He faked another smile (which must have looked more like a grimace because Cynthia sent him a sympathetic look) and took a sip of his tea.

"We're going to go into London for a few days, I have some business to attend to. You may come as well with Cynthia and her parents, meet some people. Make some connections. It will be you doing this in a year or so." The queen took a sip of her own tea before staring him down, basically saying "you have no choice in this." 

"I- oh. Yes, of course, mother. That is fine." He agreed eventually, faking yet another smile; go into London for a few days???? He's gonna have to be apart from Paul. Holy fuck. That's not something he was used to.. 

"Good, good. We leave tomorrow at dawn, we have a long journey ahead of us." The woman nodded before finishing her tea. Her and Cynthia's parents fell into conversation but John was just staring at his food aimlessly, getting lost in thoughts. How to break this to Paul.. he certainly wouldn't be happy. But he knew it wasn't his fault, or choice, really. God, I really don't want to do this. I'm gonna have to talk to these airhead fucking assholes and "make connections" or whatever. That's my life now. It's gonna be what I have to do once I become king. Holy fuck. 

"John.. are you alright?" Cynthia spoke up, putting a comforting hand to his shoulder and gazing at him concernedly. "You look hungover."

"That's 'cause I am." He chuckled, albeit humourlessly, and finished the last bite of his meal, pushing his plate away after. "'m fine, Cyn. Don't worry." He gave her another fake smile before gazing down at his lap.

He could tell it didn't convince her, but she let up, turning away with one last glance towards him before continuing to eat her own meal.

Once the excruciating lunch was over, they made a few more minutes of small talk before John excused himself, dashing away and sneaking out the side gate, making a beeline straight for Paul's place, going the long way through back alleys and near the Liverpool docks so he wouldn't be recognised very easily, as he hadn't bothered to get into a disguise. Which was pretty stupid, but he didn't honestly care that much at the moment. 

Already having memorised the route to his boyfriend's place, he made it there pretty quickly; Paul was working out in the corn fields, planting some sort of plant in the rich soil, watering it as he went. His gardening gloves were smothered in dirt and his overalls were stained and crumpled slightly. He wasn't wearing a shirt underneath it and John watched the muscles in his boyfriend's back and arms flexing, sweat shining in the sun as he went, digging holes to put the seeds inside. He smirked, definitely enjoying the view before making his way over, checking first to make sure there was no one else around. 

"Hey."

Jumping in fright, Paul turned around in shock at the voice; he hadn't heard John coming over. His muscles relaxed after recognising him though, before he turned slightly cold, eyebrows furrowing. 

"Oh. Aye, John." His expression turned amiable, though, and he could see he was putting the infamous McCartney mask on, showing no signs of emotion pretty much before he continued planting the seeds.

"What ya plantin' there?" 

"Carrots." 

"Oh! Cool. Uhm.." John trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Can we talk? Y'know... about stuff?" A long silence followed, Paul stopping his movements and standing still for a few seconds.

"Barn." The younger boy finally spoke before putting down his shovel and making his way towards it, not sparing a single glance towards his boyfriend before he disappeared through the doors. John stared after him for a moment before snapping back to reality and running after him, checking to see if anyone was looking before closing the door behind them. 

As soon as the door was closed, Paul turned and pressed a harsh finger against his chest, glaring him down with anger alight in his eyes like burning coals on the older man's skin.

"Explain right now, Lennon."

"E-explain... what?" He paused, utterly confused. "I can't remember anythin' from last night. I was drunk off me bloody arse." 

"Oh, yeah." Paul's expression softened slightly and he sat down on the stacks of hay next to them, sighing. "Well, ye got really bloody drunk. Then ye started fightin' with Stuart, sayin' he backstabbed ye an' ye told me why ye were so mad at 'im. Caused a bit of a scene but I pulled ye out the 'ouse. Then ye threw up an' I took ye home. Ye were really sad 'cause of 'im."

John stood there, arms crossed for a few moments. Oh.. Stuart. Fucking hell. "Right. Goddamnit.." He eventually spoke, groaning and running his hands down his face. "'m so stupid. Sorry I ruined the night." 

"Yeah, ye were stupid. But.. 's okay. 'e was a dick to ye. Ye deserve better friends." Paul stood up, placing gentle hands on his boyfriend's hips and looking up into his eyes with a shy smile. "Ye kept mumblin' about how ye wanted ta bury yer head between me thighs." His cheeks were flushed but he smirked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Oh.." John blinked, feeling his own cheeks warm at that. "Sorry. Sometimes I get a little horny when drunk."

"I wouldn't mind, though," Paul winked, toying with the end of the older boy's shirt, and John gasped with a grin.

"Mr. McCartney! I never knew ye thought of me tha' way.." He pressed a hand to his cheek with a sly smile, pretending to fan himself before wrapping his arms around Paul's waist and reaching to grasp at his arse.

"Oi! That tickles a little bit." His boyfriend jumped slightly, but he grinned and leant in, connecting their lips. Sighing contentedly, John reached to card a hand through his thick dark hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

"God, I missed that.." John breathed when they parted, moving to kiss at Paul's cheek and the corner of his mouth with an uncontrollable smile - Paul reacted with an eye-roll but still smiled, resting his hands on the prince's lower back.

"It's been less than 24 hours since ye last kissed me."

"I know, that's too long." 

"Tell me about it." 

They connected their lips once again, a bit more passionate this time and John was backed up against the wall, not breaking even once for several seconds. The older boy had forgotten that he could breathe through his nose so he suddenly got short of breath and had to part.

"Hey! Jus' breathe through yer nose." Paul protested with a pout. 

"I know, but kissin' ye makes me forget how to breathe." 

"The flattery! Ye really know how ta get into me knickers.." The younger boy grinned cheekily and tapped a long finger against his smug boyfriend's chin.   
But, his expression changed to somber when he realised what he had come there for - to see Paul, of course, but.. also tell him about the trip. 

"Uh, Macca?" 

"Yeah, babe?" Paul gazed up into his eyes, his dark eyelashes fluttering prettily when a piece of dust flew near his eye, causing him to draw back so it wouldn't get near him. It made John's knees wobble and his heartbeat raced. Paul always made his stomach explode with butterflies and shivers go up his spine.

"There's somethin' I have ta tell ye." 

"Oh god. Is it bad? Out with it then." Paul groaned and rubbed an eye tiredly. He was still hungover himself, just significantly less so as he had drunk like 6 beers less than John. 

"Well.. Mimi jus' sprung this on me at lunch. Turns out we're goin' on a trip into London with Cyn an' her parents fer business." He paused, eyes searching Paul's face nervously for his reaction, before continuing. "I came right after ta tell ye."

"Oh. Shit. Really?" Paul's expression grew dismayed and he sighed bitterly. "Do ye have to?"

"Yeah, unfortunately. Mimi won't let me 'ave a choice in it, like most things in me life."

"When do you leave?" Paul toyed sadly with John's shirt collar before resting his head on his chest, warm breath billowing against his neck. The older man pulled him as close as possible, rubbing a hand comfortingly up and down his lower back. 

"Tomorrow, at dawn." John buried his nose in Paul's hair, breathing in the scent of rosemary and vanilla that his boyfriend always smelt like. "'m sorry. I will definitely come see ye as soon as I come 'ome. Think 's only fer 3-4 days.." 

"'s okay, love." Paul sighed again, lifting his head to look him in the eye, expression longing but accepting of their fate of being apart for a few days. "I'll see ye when ye get home. Fer now... stay with me." 

"I will." They connect lips briefly again before John smiled warmly at him. "Let's go to yer hidin' spot! 's not rainin' like last time."

"Oh yeah!" Paul grinned and laced their fingers before they ran out the barn - stupidly giggling all the while - stumbling along the grass as they scampered into the forest. "Don't go so bloody fast, Johnny! 'm still hurt, remember?" Paul struggled to keep up, breathless from laughter and holding his injured side.

"Oh! Sorry, love. Here, wait-" He paused, turning to look back at his boyfriend with a smirk before suddenly (literally and figuratively) sweeping him off his feet,  
picking him up and carrying him bridal style into the forest. The boy yelped in surprise before dissolving into snorting laughter, head thrown back and hair all tousled, cheeks flushed. It as a sight that really made John's stomach flutter and heart race, chest swelling with an emotion he couldn't entirely place. 

"John! Careful, yer gonna drop me-" Paul placed a hand on his chest for support, looking down at the ground below in terror, but all John did was continue to trot deeper into the forest before they reached the specific spot. 

"Don't worry, my love! Prince Lennon of Liverpool is here to save the damsel in distress! Riding in on thy valiant steed, wind blowing in my beautiful auburn locks, pearly white teeth flashing in the sunset light-"

"Ye could never ride a fuckin' horse. Bullshit!" Paul broke into giggles again at imagining his boyfriend attempting to ride a horse. "Ye've probably never touched a bloody animal in yer life before ye met me!"

"Not true! I've... seen birds. An' stuff. I've had mosquitoes suck my blood. Or flies on me." John struggled to list the animals he's interacted with, and Paul smirked up at him triumphantly. 

"Hah! See. I've had more experience than ye. Poor little rich boy." 

"Y'know, I could just drop ye right now." John stopped abruptly, having made it to Paul's secret spot. Paul gazed up at him with a faked terrified look, pretending to bite his teeth. 

"Please, your majesty! I am but a poor little merchant-" Suddenly he was dropped to the soft, cushiony grass below, and he screamed in laughter as he fell. "Jooo-ooohn! That hurt!" 

"Now ye know how it feels when ye insulted me!" John harrumphed, crossing his arms and turning away with a pout. 

"Awww, baby, ‘m so sorry..." Paul’s expression turned suspiciously worried and upset and he pulled his boyfriend down to the ground with him. “I never meant ta be so horrible like that, Johnny, ‘m sorry-“ his hand was reaching to grab at the grass around them and rip it from the ground.

“Oh, ‘s okay..” John decided to indulge him, wondering where he was going with it, keeping his expression heartbroken and melancholy, bottom lip stuck out and puppy eyes in full effect.

Then suddenly, he got a face full of grass. 

“Wh-wha-“ John spluttered, Paul attempting to shove it in his mouth with an evil cackle. John pulled away with a cough, spitting out the blades, coughing fit eventually dissolving into laughter. “Ye fuckin’ asshole!”

“Ye fell for every damn word! Sucker!” Paul fell back into the dip, body shaking with echoing giggles. 

“Not suckin’ yer dick tonight, then!” John managed to speak through his own laughter, and he rolled into the dip and onto his boyfriend, spooning his entire body around him and burying his head in his neck.

“I know yer gonna do it anyway. Horny bastard.” Paul continued to tease him but held the older boy’s arms closer against his body anyway.

“Pack it, will ye?”

“Sorry.” He giggled. 

That conversation lingered in his mind as he got into the carriage at the crack of dawn, the sun just beginning to crawl its way up the horizon. All he could do was lean against the door, head resting on the window, watching as the grand Liverpool Smith royal family manor disappeared in the distance, and hope that it would be over as quickly as possible. 

He thought that maybe running away wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh hey guys sorry 4 the  
delay! hope u enjoy this chap  
eeeee some fluff ((: anyways   
aaaaaa  
im gonna lose my MIND ALL  
THE JDJDJDJD comments  
and support and   
eVERYTHING JJJFFKJD fuck  
i love u guys so so much thank  
u!!!! ok ok bye bye its late i   
stayed up for this again   
JDJDJDJ byee <3333


	30. twenty nine.

april 1859 

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Er... yes." John wasn't listening to a single word the lanky, wrinkled old woman with a puffed chest and turned down nose was saying. She had been talking him and Cynthia's ear off for the past half hour about various art pieces and vases and the like; champagne glass in hand, dressed flawlessly in an extremely expensive suit made of rich green silk, top hat resting on his head, one arm resting comfortably on Cynthia's waist. If he could, he wouldn't be touching her - but for the act of a happily engaged couple they had to do so. And the look one of the older men was giving her made disgust rise up in his throat like bile, feeling the need to keep her close just in case. 

"This art is just delightful! Who did this one?" Cynthia indulged her with a fake smile, gesturing to one which was a still painting of some sort of banquet, looking a bit like The Last Supper. 

"Oh, it was by.." John continued to not listen, instead just taking to staring at the wall and nodding on to whatever was said with an expression devoid of emotion.  
Paul McCartney. Paul. Macca. Paulie. James. Paul. McCartney. Cart of eggs. McPaulie. Pauline. Maccy. McOrange. Paurange. I eat Pauranges. 

The last thing he thought of made a snicker bubble up in his throat before he could stop it and the woman's head snapped towards him in shock and offence. 

"Sorry- sorry-" He quickly masked his giggling by fake-coughing into his elbow. "This champagne is a - little strong, I am dearly sorry. Just-just choked on it a little bit." He fumbled for an excuse with deep red cheeks, feeling all the people around him training their eyes on him; the woman raised one suspicious eyebrow before continuing her rant, Cynthia not really listening either anymore.

"What were you laughing about?" She half-whispered, gazing up at him with a small smile, and he smiled back.

"Oh, nothin'.. I mashed Paul's name with orange and made it Paurange." He struggled not to laugh again at saying it and his fiancé giggled at that as well, glad to finally have one small moment to have a meaningful conversation for a moment.

"That's a good one. You have to tell me about Paul tonight later on! I want to know about the person that captured my fiancé's heart." There wasn't any negative emotion showing on Cynthia's face at all, for some reason. Just genuine curiosity and interest. It struck John to his very core, and he almost felt like crying suddenly. Cynthia was so fucking lovely. He didn't deserve her at all. She should hate him for losing interest in him and falling for another person, but she didn't. She loved him anyway. His heart soared at that and his lips were pulled up into a heartfelt smile - he hoped it showed how he felt right then.

"If yer willin' ta listen to me ramble on fer the next six months, then that would be nice." He smiled even wider (if that was possible), thinking about all the things he could say about Paul. He had so many things to say. He wanted Cynthia to meet him, actually. See how amazing of a person he is. How talented, funny, pretty, kind, caring, loving, handsome, intelligent - pretty much every positive word ever - Paul really was. He didn't know if his boyfriend would take to her all that well though; he was quite upset when he learned of Cynthia, after all. 

"That would be lovely."

The evening progressed on, seemingly, as slow as it could possibly go. It was some sort of gathering-slash-dinner-party with some 'important' people at someone's gigantic estate, which was all tall, cream coloured walls and high ceilings. John totally forgot the man's name (and didn't really care either) but he had bought a bunch of expensive art items like paintings and pottery and furniture, putting them on display for others to buy and Mimi was forcing the couple to pick out some things to have at their wedding as well. The boy was so tired of the same goddamn parties every time, the same people whose faces are all so similar that they just blend into each other like faceless, shapeless, colourless creatures. No personality, no opinions! Nothing. Just the shell of a human that could be so much more, but they're dumb enough to follow whatever rules some old straight white men decided was how the world should run centuries ago. It was so exhausting, draining of all energy and leaving John wanting to just run away and never come back. And the thought of that being his life for the next 70 years or so made him want to run away even more. 

"So! Ms. Powell, Prince Lennon! When is the wedding?" 

"Oh, in January next year." Cynthia thankfully answered for him. John couldn't count how many goddamn times people asked him that question, and it pissed him off each time. It just continued to remind him of what was to come. 

They were now eating their supper, sitting on another gigantically long dining table, 15 or so other people spread out along it next to him and his fiance, making somewhat interesting conversation and picking away at the food. It was some type of baked goose with oregano, potatoes and vegetables; John liked it very much, but it seemed that it wasn't up to the standards of the rest of the group. 

It made him clench his jaw in indignation when he saw the looks of disgust and almost offence on their faces, as if it was offensive for them to be fed something that wasn't the most expensive, outrageous, whatever food they were into. He made a point to thank the waiters and waitresses that stood in the corners of the room, ready to follow any person's command the moment they ask - even if they stared at him in a shocked, almost scared expression (they probably had never been thanked before in their life). He would thank the chef for the food, too, but there wasn't a way for him to find out who it was.

He was about to turn to Cynthia to say something, but he fell silent when he saw her in conversation with a young woman next to her. Something about the art. Sighing, he turned away and sipped at his wine, tempted to rest a head in his hand but stopping himself cause he knew that would look 'ungentlemanly'.  
Instead, he just continued to eat his meal, Paul clawing his way back into his mind like always. He wondered what his boyfriend was doing at that moment. Maybe having his own dinner with his father and brother, laughing and having a good time. Maybe working out on the farm? Lying in bed, reading something? Was he thinking about John like he was thinking of Paul? Maybe he was sneaking out to see George and Ringo? Probably not; George and Ringo do terrifying things at night.

Being in London was nice, but he still missed Liverpool a lot. Specifically his friends and Paul. The docks, the pubs; it was so much more homely. And also his actual home. He was the prince of his city, sure - but he still loved to blend into it, be a regular working-class citizen, if only for a little while. He treasured the times where he wasn't recognised, where he could be truly himself for a bit. And the times where he could be with his friends, which would be harder and harder to do unnoticed as time went on. His life was going to be much more public when he was married and crowned king. 

Maybe being in London would be nicer if he was with Paul. George and Ringo, too, of course. But mainly Paul. 

Once the dinner was over, the table was cleared and the party continued their conversations in the lounge room, some going back to the display area to continue looking at the items, some others saying their goodbyes. Cynthia and John retired to their own home, saying their own goodbyes before basically sprinting out of there and to their carriage waiting, tired of all the bullshit and ready to just spend some time by themselves. 

"Aye, Neil! I hope ye found a good restaurant for yer dinner?" John called out with a smile to his carriage driver. The younger man looked up from reading the newspaper with a warm smile of his own, perched on his seat at the front of the carriage, the horses full after their own meal and ready to go. Mr. Aspinall was the name John was supposed to call him; the prince was quite decent friends with him, having found the man funny and actually really interesting. He always let him go off and do his own thing when he went places by himself, knowing that it would be boring if he just had to sit there for the entire time and wait. 

"Oh, yes! The Italian place just down the block, Bianci's!" He gestured behind him to the intersection a few metres away. John nodded with a 

"Oh, that place is just lovely! Good gnocchi." Cynthia commented with an amiable grin, opening up the door and beginning to try and get into the carriage. It was unfortunately, too small for her unnecessarily large and puffy dress - and it got caught on the edge of the step. There was a loud tearing noise before she fell into her seat with a huff of shock. It had tore the bottom of her dress off. "Ah, fuck-" She muttered, sitting up and trying to reach down to look at it, but her corset was too tight.

"Cyn! You alright?-" John moved to help her, seeing her torn dress. Neil hopped down from his seat too, coming to her aid just in case.

"If Mimi saw this, she would kick me out. I'm practically dead.." The blonde-haired woman sighed, scooting further into the carriage to make space for John to get in. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine. Just go now, before any of those people in the party see." 

Hopping in beside her, the auburn-haired boy gestured to Neil to start driving, and the driver obeyed, going back to his seat and picking up the reins to coax the horses into moving again.

"I'll have to fix it. And we have the lunch gathering tomorrow.." The woman groaned, head falling against the seat behind her as she rubbed her eyes with her fingers.

"'s okay, Cyn. I'll go by meself. Jus' stay at home an' relax." He raised an eyebrow, taking off his top hat before adjusting his hair slightly.

"Oh- okay." Cynthia looked at him, small smile creeping on her face before she turned to gaze out the window, watching the city pass them by as they made their way back to the house. "Thanks."

✧✧✧✧✧

"No, no- ye don't fuckin' put the eggs in like tha', George!" 

Infinitely frustrated with his best friend's antics, a certain doe-eyed boy let out a huff of exasperation and shoved the lanky boy out of the way of the stove, snatching the egg from his hand. George and Ringo had come early in the morning to Paul's place and woke him up, asking if he could help them make eggs and bacon on toast for breakfast, since he was the only one in the group who knew at least somewhat how to cook. He learnt due to basically having had to become a mother when his own died, and Jim refused to do anything even slightly non-masculine.   
He had complied, and now they were standing in George's empty kitchen, protected from the bright mid-morning sun with drawn curtains - Ringo leaned against the counter and watched the two arguing with an amused grin, sipping away at his tea. The oldest of the three had nicked some bacon from his own place, as that was much harder for working-class to afford; and some actually decent bread. 

Now, back to what they were doing; George had been trying to fry one of the eggs, but he hadn't even cracked it open, instead just laid it - shell and all - onto the hot surface of the frypan.

"Wha'? I dunno anythin' 'bout cookin', Paul! Help me, pleaseeeeeee!" The boy begged, shaking Paul's shoulder extremely annoyingly, causing the raven-haired boy to shove his hand off with an irritated glare - he couldn't help but smile, though, and George's eyes sparkled with mischief, grinning when he saw him smile. "See! Please, just help!"

"Didn't ye at least watch yer mother cook? It isn't tha' bloody 'ard, look-" He paused to demonstrate the art of cracking eggs open, doing it swiftly against the edge of the pan, the egg sizzling deliciously as soon as it made contact with the pan. "Voila. Now do it yerself an' stop annoyin' me." Gesturing to it, he sarcastically smiled before leaning against the counter next to Ringo, taking a sip of his own tea.

"Fine! Jus' don't be so bloody huffy." The lanky boy huffed (ironically), grabbing another egg lying on the counter next to them and psyching himself up to crack it open.

"Well, what do ye expect? Ye both woke me up at like 7am to come help ye make eggs an' bacon. I 'ave every right to be 'uffy." Paul crossed his arms with an (extremely adorable) pout, causing the azure-eyed boy next to him to nudge his shoulder with a giggle. Paul wondered how John would react to being woken up like that. Probably tell them to fuck off. 

"Oi, c'mon! Don't be a priss. Ye get ta hang out with us!" Ringo pushed off the counter and went to attempt to cook another egg, George having cracked his (making a gigantic mess and eggshell pieces flew everywhere - one literally flew straight onto Paul's cheek) and attempting to scoop out the remains of the eggshell from the pan with a fork. 

"Yeah! 'angin' out with us is a privilege, ye know. We are very interestin' an' fun people." The sharp-cheekboned boy flashed his vampire-like teeth as he poked the egg yolk-covered fork into Paul's chest.

"Right." The 16 year old raised an eyebrow, unconvinced - he shoved the fork away with a grimace and grabbed the nearest tea towel to wipe the disgustingly sticky stuff off. 

"Look! Guys! I did it!" Ringo suddenly exclaimed, his expression one of pure joy; the two boys rushed over and saw that he had cracked the egg perfectly in half, it being in almost a perfect circle while it was cooking. George stared at him in awe, probably thinking some dirty gross things about eggs and Ringo and something else; Paul chose to ignore, not feeling up to getting PTSD, instead just halfheartedly clapping. He suddenly wished John was there. 

"Wow! Ye should be a chef, aye, Rings!" 

"Yeah! That would be fun. I could be a professional egg cracker!" The big-nosed boy grinned proudly, puffing out his chest; Paul almost snickered at the fact that Ringo was acting as if this was his greatest accomplishment in life thus far. Instead he gathered up the bacon and slipped them next to the cooking eggs, oil beginning to pop and fly up in all directions, the crackle of cooking meat filling the room. 

"Woah, that smells so bloody good." George licked his lips with a hungry expression, staring at the bacon, almost willing it to cook faster with his mind.

"George, move, the oil will-" Paul couldn't get his words out fast enough before there was a yell of pain that erupted from the youngest boy, having had a drop of oil fly right next to his eye (thank christ it hadn't gotten inside), doubling over and holding a hand against it. 

"Geo! Ye alright, babe?" Ringo came rushing to his boyfriend's aid with concern written all over his face. Paul just huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Idiot."

"'s okay, didn't get in me eye.." George stood there for a moment before straightening, showing them that in fact, he was alright, and he was probably being a little baby. Well, according to Paul. Paul was just mean.

"I tried ta tell ye to bloody move!" The doe-eyed boy leaned back against the counter and downed the rest of his tea with a content sigh. 

"Well ye didn't tell me fast enough, git!" Giggling, George shoved him with a playfully angry expression; Paul fought him off with a grin of his own.

"Wha'ever, the eggs are almost ready." He moved to flip them over, but one of them stuck to the pan, and as he struggled to peel it off the entire thing was torn to bits in the process. Sighing, he slipped the other intact ones onto a plate before holding up the one destroyed egg to show the other two. "Who's willin' to 'ave scrambled?" 

"Not me. No way. I bags this one!" George immediately went for one of the good eggs, putting it on his own plate before taking out another pan to cook the toast.

Ringo made puppy dog eyes at Paul and he gave in with a sigh. He wished John was there so he wouldn't be stuck with the chaotic couple. 

"Fine, I'll 'ave the shitty one." He rolled his eyes before putting the slices of bread on the pan with some butter to cook them; Ringo pumped his fist in the air with a "yes!" before taking one of the eggs and immediately biting into it. 

"Babe, ye should wait until the bacon an' bread is ready!" George giggled, coming to wrap an arm around his boyfriend's waist - and the older boy pulled him closer with a grin before leaning to connect their lips.

"Oi, oi! Still here. Wait 'til 'm gone, thanks." Paul stopped them before they got too into it, giving them a look before evenly dividing the now cooked bacon and toast. Immediately, the hungry boys took their plates and went to sit on the dining table. 

"Oh, yes! Ye really can cook, Paulie! Thanks." George rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation before digging into it ravenously, basically inhaling the entire thing within minutes.

Paul took his time, resting his head in his hand with a sigh, now having nothing to distract him from his thoughts of John; he really wanted to see him so badly. He missed every part of John - his lips, his face, his smile, voice, laughter, eyes - every time he thought of him butterflies would flutter and explode in his chest, causing a shiver to go up his spine and him to smile involuntarily. Everything about John made him weak in the knees and like he was floating on a cloud of pure cotton. Now that they were apart, having absolutely no way of contact until John got back; he wanted his boyfriend even more. Just to see him, even. See him smile again or hear his laugh. And maybe kiss him. And other things. But.. just even seeing him was enough. But that couldn't happen until the prince came back. 

"Aye, what's got ye down in the dumps, Paulie?" Ringo asked with a kind smile, biting into his bacon with a raised brow.

"'e's upset 'cause 'is boyfriend's not here to fuck 'im." George grinned evilly before licking the salt off his lips, having finished his meal within seconds; when George was hungry, there was no stopping him. It was a wonder how he stayed so skinny. "Ye gonna eat tha'?" The lanky boy pointed to Paul's leftover bacon slice, and the boy just pushed the plate forward to let him have it.

"No. 'm fine. Jus' tired." Paul lied, waving them off before standing up. Suddenly, he remembered; Jim had asked him to help him shear the sheep that day, since they always do in early spring. "Shit!"

"Wha'? D'ye need to take a shit?" George raised an eyebrow playfully. 

"No! Pack it, will ya?" Paul growled angrily before grabbing his plate to put it in the sink. "Meant to sheer the sheep today. If da' sees 'm not 'ome he'll realise I snuck out again. 'm still grounded, remember?" 

"Oh, right. Still up fer the pub tonight, though?" Ringo queried, grabbing their own plates to put them next to Paul's.

"Yeah, 'course. See ye tonight, yeah? Bye!" Paul hugged them briefly before dashing out of the house, going straight back to his house only the next street over. 

But, once he made it there; there was a certain red-headed girl standing at the front door nervously, fiddling with the end of her sleeves. He raised an eyebrow. Why is Jane standing there?

When she spotted him, she came over hurriedly, holding her hands behind her back.

"Hey, uh, Paul!"

"Aye, Jane." Paul shoved his hands in his pockets, ready to move past, but she stopped him.

"Can I talk to ye?" 

"Oh- right now? 'sposed to sheer the sheep soon." Paul stopped in his tracks, foot tapping impatiently against the ground, anxious to leave before his father would get mad and slit his throat. 

"Well-" The girl sucked in a breath, adjusting her wide-brimmed hat. "Uhm, me dad-" 

"Spit it out, 's okay." He half-smiled at his old crush, trying to coax her into saying whatever she was trying to say - he didn't have time for this.

"Me dad wants me ta marry ye. Like.. soon. He talked to Jim about it, he wants it to 'appen as well." Jane finally managed to say, looking awkward and nervous. But there was a spark of hope in her eyes, and Paul could tell that she wanted it to happen.

Oh, fuck. 

"Uh- w-wh-" He stuttered, feeling his cheeks go beet red. Marry Jane??? What the hell? That was the last thing on his mind right now. He didn't even like her anymore, he had John. "Really?"

"Yeah, uhm.." she fake-coughed. "'cause I've known ye for like 5 years now, they want it to happen y'know- within the next year." Her gaze flickered back up to his face, searching for his expression. An extremely tense silence followed, and Paul wanted nothing more than to sink through the earth and just not exist for the next 10 years. 

"Jane..." He finally breathed out, feeling his heart sink. He had to break it to her he wasn't interested anymore. Even though they knew they liked each other for a while. But.. he wasn't interested anymore. "'m- I-"

"What? Are you.. okay with it?" She asked, voice laced with hope. It was almost too much to bear and Paul shut his eyes tightly, running a hand through his hair nervously.

"Uhm.. Jane- I'm sorry." He finally managed to get out. "I just-" 

"What?" She paused. He could see that the cogs were working in his head, expression changing from hopeful and excited to shocked to distraught. "Ye- don't like me anymore?" 

"I-I-" Fuck, how do I say this without her getting all upset? He attempted to diffuse the situation and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Jane, I just... I've found someone else."

"What?! I thought you liked me!" Her expression grew terribly sad, and she shoved him away; "ye led me on, bastard!"

"I didn't know I was! I'm sorry, I really am-"

"They're probably goin' to make us get married anyway! My father is set on it." 

"What? I- I can't get married! I'm-" He quickly shut himself up when he realised what he was about to say. No, Paul. Don't. "I'm too young!" There. That's better, I guess. "And.. 'm not really interested in ye anymore! I don't want to marry someone I don't like!"

The girl just stayed silent, hurt flashing in her eyes before she suddenly turned to storm off, back into the house and up the stairs to where the Asher's lived above them.

"Jane!" He called after her, but gave up as he saw her disappear up the stairs. Sighing, he rubbed at his face before making his way inside and out the back to go help his father sheer the sheep. Great. You fucked it up, Paul. It almost would have been better if you told her you still liked her so you could hide your relationship with John behind the marriage. 

But I don't want to marry someone I don't like! Jane honestly annoys me a lot.

I know, but you're with John! You obviously can't marry him. You're technically not supposed to be together anyway! You should marry her so you have someone to hide behind.

She would never accept me if I told her I was with a man. She deserves to marry someone who likes her back!

Shut up, Paul. Just sheer the sheep for now and think about it later.

Smacking his head with his palm, he inwardly groaned before making his way into the barn where Jim was waiting. There was no point in arguing about it with himself right then; it was better to just set it aside, lock it up in the back of his mind to work out later.

Slipping a hand into his pocket, he took out a now worn piece of paper, opening it up to look at it. It was the drawing John gave him of a cartoonish old man with a large nose all that time ago when they had only just started to become friends and Paul stopped being a stubborn bastard and succumbed to the John void. He always carried it around wherever he went, running his fingers along it in his pocket as he would walk through the docks or work on the farm or anything of the sort, comforting him and making him feel better; as if it was John, replacing him when the actual John wasn't there. 

Keeping the thought of his boyfriend in his mind, he got to work.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys sorry this isnt as  
long as the others usually r im little burnt out from being with my friends for a week djdjdjd i needed to getthis out. but i hope yall enjoy it anyway ! thank u for the comments and support and   
everything like??? duude wtf JDJSJSJ i love u guys so so much <333 byebye!!


	31. thirty.

[ warning ; slurs and triggering words about poc + lgbt people ]

april 1859

Paul leant an elbow against the dining table, resting his head in his palm with a sigh as he finished the last of his boiled potatoes and rice. It was their first meal of the day, the sun already high in the sky, the family being short on money again and struggling to have proper food. They didn't have enough produce to take for themselves, as all of it had to be sold, otherwise they wouldn't have any money. Paul would have nicked a few things from Ringo like him and George sometimes did, but Ringo didn't have any either to give. It was that point in time where they had to sell everything they had, no room for leftovers or anything. Spring causes people to cook more. The three were on their lunch break as of that moment, having been at their job of chopping wood for most of the day, and once they were finished they were to go back and continue until dinnertime. 

"Enjoyed yer meal, eh?" Jim queried towards his eldest, wiping his mouth politely with a handkerchief. 

"Yeah." The raven-haired boy lied, putting down his fork and standing up, collecting his dishes to put away. His stomach was still rumbling and aching for food, and he definitely wasn't eating enough for the amount of physical work he was doing; but it was enough. Not any of their fault.

He still blamed the system for favouring the rich - and the rich for not giving a fuck about the poor - but he knew it wasn't exactly all their fault. John helped change his perspective on that. But it doesn't change his situation. He only hoped that, maybe one day, it could change. And maybe John could help him.. 

He dipped the dishes into the water-filled bucket in the sink and began to wash it, cleaning it all up along with his cutlery before putting it back inside the cupboard. Afterwards, he felt bored, leaning against the counter as John drifted back into his mind. He wondered what his boyfriend (it still makes a shiver go up his spine at the word boyfriend - never something he thought he would associate with another boy) was doing at that time.. whether he missed him just as much as Paul did. Luckily, there were only two days left until the prince would be back home, but it still was too long for him. It felt like time had slowed down so much the seconds were like minutes.. 

Speaking of John, Paul had met a certain ex-lover of his at the pub the night before. 

"Shit, guys, look-" Paul almost choked on his beer, knocking his teeth against the rim with an "ow!" before nodding his head towards a familiar shortish boy with sunglasses perched on his nose, a blonde, short-haired woman beside him. They were sitting at the bar, ordering their drinks, Paul, George and Ringo situated in a booth at the other end. "'s Stuart."

"Oh aye! Let's go say hi." George perked up at the sight of his friend, standing up and dragging Ringo after him as they squeezed into the crowd, Paul quickly following behind so as not to lose them. He didn't really want to interact with the artist after what happened at The Party but it seemed he had no choice anyway. 

"Hey! Stu!" George called over the noise with a grin as the squeezed past the sea of people and to the front bar, tapping on Stuart's shoulder to get his attention.

"Oh- George! Ringo! Good to see ye." The shorter boy smiled at the sight of them, patting them on the back, before spotting Paul a little bit behind them, who was trying his best to blend in with the wall behind him and not exist. His smile lessened a bit, and Astrid's eyes widened as she turned away, probably remembering the events of last night. Understandable. "Hey, uh- Paul, isn't it?"

"Y-yeah. Hi. Uhm.." He rubbed at the back of his neck a little bit, feeling his own cheeks begin to flare embarrassingly. 

"How are ye, mate? Enjoyin' yer time with Astrid?" Ringo leaned against the counter as they fell into conversation, Paul opting to stay out of it for several reasons. But eventually, he realised that at some point, he would have to talk to Stuart. Sort out this whole thing that John has kept him in the dark about.

"Uhm, Stuart? I need to talk to ye." Paul eventually approached him, twisting his foot against the ground nervously as he ran a hand through his hair. "Alone."

"Alright." Stuart had agreed eventually, expression turning unreadable before he stood up. "This way." He led the younger boy away through the crowd and out the front doors, into the warm spring air of the night. They continued walking for a few moments before they got to the side of the pub, Paul leaning against the brick wall in the dark alleyway.

"Right, well.. I wanna say-" He paused as he looked for the right words to say, licking his lips slightly before continuing. "'m sorry. For, y'know - the whole thing that 'appened at the party. With John." He almost felt stupid for saying it out loud, but he knew it had to be said. 

"'s okay. I can understand he isn't really very happy with me.." Stuart shoved his hands in his pockets, looking despondent as he gazed at the stone brick ground below them. "I feel really bad, I didn't realise that 'e needed me to stay at that time. I thought he wanted me to fuck off." He chuckled, albeit humorlessly.   
"I feel really terrible fer ditchin' him. But.. I fell in love with Astrid. I didn't know what he wanted anymore. I couldn't be with 'im the way he wanted to anymore. An'- he has moved on, obviously-" His gaze flickered up to Paul's face, and Paul couldn't help but smile. "but 'e hasn't moved on from the pain, an' I haven't really been the best friend post-breakup.. I am still 'is friend, y'know- I just wish he would let me apologise an' we talk it out. Other things 'ave gotten in the way, too, I guess." 

It was something the both of them very much needed. An explanation. Paul got Stuart's side, at least- but John himself had to talk to him so they could move past it. It still lit the fires of jealousy inside Paul's heart when he heard the way Stuart talked about John - the fact they had such a romantic history together, too. Paul was so inexperienced with the whole, uh- homosexual, thing, that John was the first man he ever fell for. It made him feel morose and resentful that John had had so much experience with those kinds of things and Paul hadn't. 

But.. it was okay. He trusted John, and trusted that he had moved on from them. That he genuinely had feelings for Paul. He couldn't control John's life, or the past, anyway - only the future, of course. 

"Right! Are we all finished, then?" Jim piped up, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder to get his attention. "Ye alright, there, son? Yer so caught up in yer thoughts today!"

"Oh, uh-" Paul blinked, seeing he had been standing in exactly the same place for several minutes. "'m fine." 

"That's good. Oh, and-" Jim began, a small smile on his face as he gathered up their coats to put back on, getting ready to go back to their work only a few streets away. "Ye've been very good, lately, James. Keep it up fer the next week an' I might lift the groundin'." The three of them began to leave the house, Mike's hands in his pockets before he nudged his brother with a smirk.

"I- really?" A grin began to grow on the doe-eyed boy's face, excitement rushing through him. He wouldn't have to sneak around with his friends so much anymore!

"Yes, if ye keep up the good behaviour." He waggled a finger. "So don't go sneakin' around on me."

"I won't." Paul lied for the 50th time that day with a sheepish smile.

✧✧✧✧✧

Boring. Boring, boring boring..

Strolling about the art gallery owned by some overly rich prick, John twirled a worn-down emerald pendant in his hands languidly as he went, avoiding talking with as many people as he possibly could. The dude who owned the place was showcasing it to some other rich bastards to be sold off, and John couldn't give less of a fuck once again. The owner, Mr Wilson, was well-known for being an overall bigot. And really rich. John figured it was probably inherited or something.

All the art inside wasn't anything of value, just stuff to put in the display in the mainly empty gallery to show how it looked and all. 

It would be nice to take Paul to an art gallery though. His boyfriend told him that he hadn't ever been to one before. When there are good ones, John finds that art galleries are amazing and a wonderful time. It would be nice to go with Paul to one. As a secret date maybe. And they could go to a nice small cafe afterwards... secretly hold hands as they walk through the London streets.. showing Paul all the sights to see. That was on his to-do list. Take Paul to London for his first time.

But, of course, a voice had to interrupt his reverie.

"Prince Lennon!" Guess what? It was a certain Mr. Wilson. John's mouth twitched slightly in annoyance, getting ready to be pissed off very much before faking a smile, shaking the hand that was held out for him. "It is an honour to meet you, your majesty," 

"Oh, uhm.. the pleasure is all... mine." The words were spoken through clenched teeth as he struggled to keep his composure. 

"Come, let's sit-" The tall, overpowering man gestured to a nearby table and chairs, and they both went to sit. "Would you like some tea? Waiter!" The man clicked his fingers impatiently, waving over a waiter who hurried to where they were, looking nervous and about ready to run off to the next country if someone so as looked at him. "Tea. Now." He glared at the waiter, who nodded and scrambled away. John felt bad, and he about wanted to tell Mr Wilson to shut the fuck up.

"Right, well, thank you." John crossed his leg over the other, hands coming to clutch at his thighs tightly. He was struggling not to yell at the man and just leave. He had already been there for several hours now and he was about ready to just leave London and straight up walk home back to Paul.

"That incompetent waiter is taking too damn long. Hey! You!" The man growled, waving over another waiter with growing impatience. "Tell him to hurry up." The man nodded before hurrying out of the room, and John got a faint sense of deja vu. 

He literally left like 10 seconds ago- would you stop complaining, you arrogant, disgusting, stuPID CUNT-

"Tea, sirs. Your majesty," The waiter was back, a lot quicker than John thought he would be, placing the full tray of tea with milk and sugar, etc on their table; interrupting his thoughts. Maybe they had it prepared for when they complained about the tardiness within 10 seconds of ordering tea. He hated the 'your majesty', but he knew he wasn't able to say anything so he just smiled at the waiter before taking his prepared teacup, putting one sugar cube into the liquid.

"Great. Next time, don't take so long. Else you're fired." Mr. Wilson glared menacingly at the waiter who just bowed hastily before bolting again. Everything about this man was pissing John the fuck off and he was about ready to give him a knuckle sandwich.

Instead he just sipped at his tea. And, obviously, it was really fucking good- probably snatched right from heaven's springs or something.

"Ah.. delightful tea, Mr. Wilson." John smiled the fakest smile to ever be faked. 

"Yes, from Kenya. Those blacks can really grow tea, can't they?" The tall man raised a nonchalant eyebrow, sipping on his own tea as they sat at the table. John felt his jawline twitch, and his eyebrows furrowed, flickering his gaze up from the table to look at the haughty Wilson in front of him. Where is this going...? "I suppose they don't do anything else of use, with their brandishing of spears and all. Shame they placed the slavery abolition act.."

"H-heh.. uhm." John felt anger begin to bubble up in his chest and to his throat, ready to spill scathing words at what this man was saying; he knew the man was bound to make a comment like that at some point, due to his reputation. But John still didn't understand the mindset. Black people weren't even that bad. One time, John had travelled to America when he was young - he had seen and even talked to a young black boy when Mimi wasn't around - and they seemed just like regular people. He didn't really understand why everyone hated them. He hadn't really ever met someone who didn't hate them.. except for George and Ringo, and a few others. There wasn't as many black people in the UK as there were in the USA, but the Slavery Abolition act in the UK had only been implemented in 1833. Which wasn't that long ago, scarily.. 

"Right." Was what John settled on. He wanted to say a lot more but he held his tongue, hands fidgeting absentmindedly with his teacup. 

"I know. Maybe we should have the faggots as slaves instead." 

The man laughed. Actually laughed out loud like that was funny to think about. 

That was the last straw.

“Excuse me?” The words flew out of his mouth before he could even think, standing up out of his chair as he felt the raw fury begin to take him over. Fuck it. I don’t even care at this point. He deserves to be taught a lesson. 

“What? I said-“

“I heard ye.” His scouse accent began to worm its way back into his speech, but he didn’t really care at that moment. “Ye fuckin’ disgustin’ bigot. Ye all jus’ think ‘s okay ta hate on somethin’ ye know nothin’ about. Because ye know nothin’ ‘bout it, ye all got scared an’ decided to ridicule them instead of bein’ willin’ ta learn about it. Because someone ‘as different colour skin, or different sexual preferences ye all go “ooh what is this??? I dunno! Let’s jus’ kill an’ imprison ‘em all! ‘Cause apparently we’re all superior fer some idiotic reason!” Fuckin’ stupid cunt.” 

And with that, he was gone.

He could hear faint shouts and footsteps behind him but instead he just ran, ran as quickly as he could out of the art gallery, out into the London streets where his carriage was waiting. Neil was sitting there, looking bored, but he looked up in shock when he saw John running towards him.

“Quick, drive! Drive home now!” He yelled as he flung open the door, leaping inside and shutting it after him as the driver coaxed the horses into moving, flying down the street. As they left John saw Mr Wilson and a few other men running out of the entrance, staring after the disappearing carriage with shock and anger on their faces.

All John did was chuckle to himself and lean back in his seat, holding his hands behind his head.

I showed them.

Once he had made it back to their London home, he hopped out with a spring in his step and a smile on his face before explaining the situation to Neil. The boy laughed and gave him a whack on the back and a congrats before the prince made his way inside. 

He spotted Mimi mid-journey to the sitting room first thing on closing the door behind him, and she stared at him in slight shock.

“John! What are you doing home so early?”

“Oh, just an altercation. No need to worry, everything is alright..” He quickly made up some dumb excuse before squeezing past her and up to the second floor. 

He knew Cynthia would probably be in the study or something and he made a beeline for it, opening the door and basically just barging inside.

“Woah! John-“ Cynthia almost jumped a mile in her seat, where she was in the middle of sewing her dress back up, staring at her fiancé in shock. “You scared me!”

“Cyn! ’m so bloody happy right now! I just gave that bigot Mr Wilson a piece of my mind!” He laughed and did a little dance before plonking down beside her, never-ending grin present on his face.

“Wow! Really? What happened?” She stared at him with a grin before continuing her sewing.

“Well basically..” He explained the events that happened between them, Cynthia listening while patching up her dress, giggling all the while.   
“I may have dug meself a hole an’ as soon as Mimi finds out I will definitely be slaughtered, but it was worth it anyroad.” 

“Yeah, Mimi’s gonna kill you. But you’re right- that seems worth it. He deserved it.” Cynthia agreed with a wink, John grinning back.

“Definitely.”

They both fell into a comfortable silence, John standing up and moving to the desk. He saw the rest of the wedding invitations he was meant to write- they would be delivered early tomorrow morning. The rest of the day would be spent with him writing them. He was close though, halfway through S.

“I miss Liverpool.” Cynthia sighed as she stopped her sewing, leaning her head on the couch behind her and shutting her eyes.

“Me too.” John agreed as he picked up the pen, dipping it in fresh ink. As he thought of Liverpool, Paul came back into his mind. He really wanted to see him more than anything. He missed his touch, lips, face, smile... 

Speaking of Paul, he remembered when he had spoken to Cynthia about him. 

The woman had been actually really accepting of it. She had listened attentively and even made some comments of her own, saying; “Paul seems like a lovely lad.” 

She even brought up the idea of meeting him, and he said maybe if he could convince Paul, they could meet. He hoped maybe they could be friends. Cynthia was a lovely girl, Paul was a great boy; he really hoped they could get along and accept the situation they were in. 

“How are you going with those letters?” Cynthia queried, interrupting his thoughts.

“Oh, good. Almost done with S. Have to finish them tonight.”

“Oh yeah. Want tea?”

“Yes please.” John sent a smile his fiancé’s way as she stood up to go get some. 

Already his arm started to ache as he began to write, copying the previous letter to try and make it as perfect as possible; the only thing keeping him going at that moment was that he would see Paul when he got home. 

✧✧✧✧✧

“Oi! Tha’ was me fuckin’ cake!” 

“Too bad, is mine now.” George stuffed the entire small chocolate cake that Elsie had baked in his mouth, disgustingly chewing it right in Ringo’s face, who shoved it away with a simultaneous grimace and giggle.

“Goddamnit.”

The couple was sprawled on Ringo’s double bed, George lying on top of Ringo whose head was buried in the ruffled pillows that had been ruined by a pillow fight around them, sun beginning to set outside. 

“C’mon, ye know ye love me.”

“Shurrup. I hate ye right now, ye stole me cake.” Ringo lifted his head to emerge from the pillows, pouting his lip and pulling a puppy dog face for full effect, which always worked on George every time. 

“Oh, sorry babe... ‘ere, let me give it back-“ He opened up his mouth as if he was about to regurgitate it into Ringo’s mouth like a mother bird to its baby; immediately Ringo grimaced again and burst out into laughter, shoving his boyfriend’s face away so he wouldn’t regurgitate at least near his face.

“Nooo! Fuck off!” 

“I’d rather fuck you.”

“Ew. Maybe later.” Ringo chuckled before scooting up a bit, so his head wouldn’t be buried under a bunch of pillows; George then rolled off of him before snuggling up beside him, wrapping his arms and legs around like a monkey.

“Paul doesn’t seem to be farin’ so well without his boyfriend.” Ringo commented.

“Yeah. ‘e obviously misses ‘im. John probably too. I can imagine his face right now..”

“Oohhh, my love, come back to meee...” Ringo held a hand against his forehead with fake cries, causing George to giggle and rest his head on his boyfriend’s chest.

“They haven’t even tried anal yet. Weird.” George looked genuinely confused.

“What? How do ye know?”

“I know what a gay couple looks like after anal. They would ‘ave the dreamiest looks fer like a week afterwards, whoever got it up the arse would be limpin’.” 

“Oh, yeah. True. Paul’s probably not ready for it. This is the first time ‘e’s ever been interested in a man before, anyroad.” Ringo wrapped an arm around George and pulled him closer with a sigh.

“Yeah. John turned ‘im gay.”George guffawed, Ringo joining in, throwing his head back.

“It’s been borin’ at work without John.” George sighed. “‘s always nice to see ‘im there, an’ we don’t do much when the royal family isn’t there.”

“I understand. Don’t worry, he’ll be home soon.” The older boy gazed down at his boyfriend before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Yeah. I miss fanboyin’ over John an’ Paul too. They have ta get married already!”

“I know right? I wanna be the best man. Or the flower person.”

“Same!! Can I be best man?” George begged, clutching closer to Ringo, who nodded with a grin.

“Sure. I’ll be the flower person.” 

“‘s funny how we’re plannin’ our friend’s an’ they’ve only been together fer what.. just a week?” 

“Holy shit, tha’ short? Tha’s crazy. It feels like months already.” Ringo raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, a lot has ‘appened since then, I guess.” George grew brooding for a moment before perking up, untangling himself from his boyfriend before grinning evilly at him. “‘m hungry. Let’s get more cakes. Race ye to the kitchen!” He was pretty much gone before he even finished his sentence, and Ringo scrambled up from his position to chase after George.

“‘Ey, wait up!” 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaaalLL hope u enjoy this sorry not much mclennon fluff )): soon tho i promise! johns gonna come home to his love ((: anyways enjoy this chap eeee was fun to write aaah ily all sm bye<3


	32. thirty one.

april 1859

"It's the day. It's the day. The day. Is here.." 

Paul incessantly paced back and forth in the lounge room, hands fidgeting behind his back, mumbling under his breath, doing his best to blink away the exhaustion clinging to his eyelids.   
He hadn't slept a wink the night before, tossing and turning on his mattress in nervousness and excitement into the wee hours of the morning. It must have been 5 or so in the morning when he finally succumbed to the depths of sleep - the result of that being Paul sleeping late into the day, (2pm if you want to be exact) Jim annoyed at him as he had tried to wake the boy up - but it seemed the boy's brain had been determined to continue sleeping. 

The day was crawling by with as much slowness as a bloody snail, Paul having no idea what exact time John was expected to arrive, and whether he would be able to escape Mimi's clutches at all before the night fell. So, he did his best to fill up the time with eating a long brunch, working out with the crops on the farm and feeding the sheep, the like. He didn't have to do work at the wood chopper's that day, thank god.

But Paul didn't know if he could wait that much longer; he was ready to just up and run to John's gigantic manor and wait for him outside so he could kiss him until his lips went numb as soon as he got off the carriage. He felt a little bit like a housewife waiting for her husband to come home from a business trip or something. The thought made him chuckle.

The sun was sinking down below the horizon at that point, the sky turning into a deep honey. His father and brother had tried to pry the reasoning for his skittishness out of him, but he hadn't budged, saying he just hadn't got much sleep that night and was feeling weird. He had even caught Jane staring at him pacing and muttering from the bottom of the stairs, which led up to the Asher's part of the house, but she had just blushed furiously and hurried out of sight. Flopping onto the couch, Paul let out a sigh and rubbed at his aching forehead harshly before tapping his fingers against his knee impatiently. When the hell is he gonna come? How do I know when he's gonna be here? He groaned, resting his head in his hands before standing up, itching to just sprint for a few kilometres or smash his head with a pot or something stupid like that.

What he decided on was to leave the house and make his way into the forest, hopping over the fence with ease, following the beaten path down to his secret spot. Well, not so secret anymore, as John knew about it. Not that he minded, though. He could envision many wonderful days spent with his boyfriend here in the future. It was pleasantly warm, and he relished being able to wear just a shirt with rolled up sleeves and some trousers, not bothering with anything else. It was so soothing to feel the cool grass under his bare feet - once he made it to his spot, he settled into the dip and reached under the exposed roots of the tree to find the box. The key he had hidden in one of the exposed roots, a perfectly-shaped little hole having been created long ago by some bug. Slipping out the rusted key, he slipped it into the lock and opened it up.

Everything was still there, thankfully. He looked through some of the pictures with a fond grin, rummaging through the items. But suddenly there was a crawling feeling on his finger; a little beetle was scrambling his way up his finger, and his gaze softened, putting down the box to look at the creature more attentively. 

It seemed to stop at his knuckle, its antennae's feeling around curiously before crawling up onto his palm. 

"Hi, little creature." Paul whispered as he held it up to look at it closer, grinning down at it. It almost looked like it was peering back at him, one of its antennae's brushing the tip of his nose. He scrunched it up involuntarily at the feeling and chuckled a little. It continued feel around on his hand, crawling up and around his fingers as if it was exploring.

"I'm gonna name ye George Jr. After me friend. 'cause yer a snoopin' little cheek jus' like 'im."

"Good name there, Macca."

"Huh?" Paul looked up in shock at the familiar voice, heart stopping all of a sudden, eyes wide. Was it the person he'd been waiting for for days? 

John smiled warmly, still wearing overly expensive attire, auburn hair - turned to a fiery red in the fading light - ruffled and unkempt, probably from running all the way there; shining eyes dancing with joy, lips pulled in a wide grin. So it turned out yes, it was.

"H-how long 'ave ye been standin' there?" Paul asked incredulously, letting George Jr run off into the grass before standing up abruptly, staring in absolute awe at his really really fucking beautiful boyfriend. 

"Since ye said 'hi little creature.'" John shrugged nonchalantly, shoving his hands in his pockets, but Paul could see his suppressed grin, eyes sparkling with a lovesick look; knowing that he was itching to move closer to him.

After a few seconds of tense silence between them, the only sounds being the breeze rustling the trees, a blackbird flying past next to them with a chirp, leaving a jet black feather at their feet, as if it somehow knew; Paul couldn't take it anymore. 

"C'mere, ye bastard." He held out his arms, beginning closing the space between them - but John was faster. Within a second they were both on the ground, Paul sandwiched between the ground and John, only one of them was smothering him in kisses. Letting out a loud laugh, he wrapped his arms and legs around his boyfriend and connected their lips deeply, tilting their heads to avoid their noses bumping - but they weren't very successful in holding it for very long due to them both breaking out in fits of laughter and grins. Paul threw his head back as John presses kisses to his throat, which was vibrating with his laughter, bunching the older's coat up in a strong grip. 

"Oh my god - I missed you-" John breathed out between kisses, connecting their lips again hastily, desperate for contact after their few days apart. 

"Fuck, I missed you more-" Paul grinned up at him before letting out incredulous laughter, gripping onto the sides of John's face. He then proceeded to press kisses to every part of his face; his chin, cheeks, nose, ears, eyebrows, eyelids, forehead, jaw, hair, everywhere he could reach. John's glasses were slowly slipping off his nose, cheeks flushed and lips slicked red, body shaking in laughter. 

Paul's breath caught in his throat as he stared, eyes wide, grip slipping at the foreign feeling that was rising in his chest, so strong it almost choked him. How could one person behold such beauty? 

"Take a picture. It'll last longer." John smirked playfully. 

"I would, but I don't 'ave a camera.." Paul giggled again, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush on the boy that never talked to her before in his life in her class. Except Paul was a guy, and John was his boyfriend. And also a prince. 

"Well, that's a good birthday present fer ye to add to me list..." John pretended to trail off, as if he was saying it half to himself, but he sneaked an excited look Paul's way.

"Whaaat?? Don't spoil yer present fer me, git!" He whacked the other boy on the shoulder with an indignant glare. Which didn't look very intimidating, as he was still struggling to hold back his grinning laughter. 

"Wasn't! Don't worry, the rest is...secret." There was a certain look in John's eyes, a sneaky hand travelling up Paul's thigh and squeezing it with a smirk - in response Paul flipped them over, stray leaves and twigs stuck on the back of his shirt and hair, gaze darkening as he leant down to nip at John's jawline, hot breath billowing against his ear. The prince shivered involuntarily, cheeks flushing and blood beginning to rush to his nether regions. Woah. 

"Gonna give me a birthday blowjob, eh, Johnny?" Paul took John's earlobe into his teeth, and John would have found it incredibly hot except for the fact that he had used the phrase "birthday blowjob".

A childish snort escaped his lips and he quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, grinning sheepishly up at his boyfriend, who was beginning to suppress laughter himself at what he said.  
"S-sorry, that sounded really funny-"

"Shut up! 'm tryin' to seduce ye here." Paul huffed in annoyance, whacking his chest halfheartedly as he straightened, resting on John's lower stomach and crossing his arms.

"Well, it's workin'..." John blinked up at him innocently, eyelashes fluttering, hands coming to rest on the doe-eyed boy's hips. 

"Good.." The boy smirked before moving to connect their lips in a firm, heated kiss.

Later that night, the couple laid on the top floor of the barn; various blankets and a thin mattress laid out with a singular pillow below them. They were cuddled up tightly with their limbs tangled together, one of them snoring away peacefully, head resting on a bare chest, auburn tussled hair tickling Paul's neck. 

The doe-eyed boy was wide awake, lying there underneath the thin blankets as he clutched tighter on John's bare, sweaty back after a good ol' sesh of rendezvousing.   
Even though he expected to feel perfectly content after the time spent with his boyfriend, Paul couldn't help but still let the thoughts lurking in the back of his mind begin to crawl to the forefront and begin to spread all across his body like a horrible virus. 

For example, the arranged marriage thing came up in his mind that Jane mentioned. The thought of him getting married was quite terrifying, actually. He didn't even like Jane. She annoyed him a bit with her clinginess, though she had a good heart through it all. It used to not annoy him when he had a crush on her, but since Certain Things got in the way (cue loving glance towards John) it faded and she began to get on every single nerve in Paul's body. He kind of knew how John felt now. Except John genuinely liked Cynthia and they stayed friends after the prince breaking it off with her anyway.   
Paul was sure that Cynthia was a lovely girl. But he was still skeptical about meeting her; he felt like if John just so much as looked at her he would fall for her again. He knew that John did like her at some point. He could see it when he talked about her, this certain look in his eyes; the softening of his expression, small sentimental smile. Ringo and George had mentioned previously that his boyfriend had been quite smitten for her. He had the same look whenever he talked of Stuart, too. And this other dude - Eppy or something? Paul couldn't remember the name - he was talked about with the same look. It made his heart sink to think about John's precious partners, but he couldn't talk anyway. He was smitten for Jane himself at one point. He tried to shake the feelings off, though. He should trust John, he had said himself that he liked Paul and only Paul. He has to believe what he says or else a wedge could come between them; the younger simply had to trust him and know that John wouldn't go back to his old lover, even if they were going to get married in less than a year. 

Looking down at his boyfriend's sleeping figure, he let out a soft sigh and buried his head in his hair, breathing in the scent of tobacco and mint and letting his eyes flutter close. John was all that mattered at that moment. He would do his best to get rid of the thoughts that plagued his mind and just enjoy their time together as much as they could. 

✧✧✧✧✧

“Hey, babe, wake up..” 

John spoke in a gentle voice to coax his boyfriend from his slumber and to the waking world, resting a hand on his cheek and caressing a thumb against his ear. He was already dressed and ready to leave, deciding not to wake Paul - who looked very deep in his sleep and not looking like someone who wanted to be woken up yet - until the last moment to tell him he was going.  
The sun was breaking through the barrier of the horizon and spreading light across the sleeping city of Liverpool at that moment, the reasoning for the prince being up so early being that the prince was supposed to begin more wedding plans; it was really getting real now, and he knew the rest of the year was going to be extremely taxing and chaotic, juggling his own wedding plans, prince duties, Paul, his friends, keeping up a facade, etc all at once. But, if he was able to spend time with Paul, that would be enough to keep him going. 

“Mmh...” Speaking of, a certain dark-haired boy was beginning to wake, sticky eyelids peeling open and staring at John in blurry confusion. “S’wha..” 

“Welcome to the world, son. It’s a boy!” John   
joked with a chuckle, leaning his head on the younger’s chest and smiling warmly up at him, probably looking like a cheesy lovesick idiot; but honestly he didn’t care.

Paul giggled, lazy smile creeping across his face as he leaned forward to connect their lips, much more awake now. The morning breath wasn’t so great on either of them, but kissing was more important than that.

“Hi, love.” His voice was husky and deep with sleep, the sound vibrating in Paul’s chest and through John’s head like an electrical current. I could literally wake up to that every day from now on, the prince thought to himself as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Hi. Yer cute.” The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself and he felt his cheeks flush, gaze darting to stare at the ends of Paul’s hair that were sticking up. “Sorry-“

“Shut up. Yer cuter.” Paul grinned - ever so cutely, he could never not grin cutely - even wider and purposely bumped their noses together before connecting their lips briefly again. “What’s got ye up this early? ‘m usually the first one to wake up.” 

“Oh, yeah.” John completely forgot about the reason he was awake and dressed and not still wrapped up in the younger’s enticing embrace due to being all wrapped up in said person’s adorableness. “I- ‘ave ta go back ‘ome, a lot of stuff is planned today. The next few weeks too fer tha’ matter.”

“Ah. Okay,” Paul paused before sighing despondently and nodding, toying with John’s hair and smoothing it out a little as it still looked like sex hair. “tha’s fine. See ye tonight? Or tomorrow at least?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Not durin’ the day fer this week, unfortunately... won’t be able ta get away. But I’ll do me best to come every night, is that okay?” He locked eyes with Paul with a small smile before pecking his lips again, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers.

“Good. I’ll be waitin’.” Paul smirked small, watching as John slowly stood up before he pulled Paul up with him and into a hug, burying his head in the crook of his bare neck.

“I won’t disappoint. See ye tonight, love.” John pulled away and smiled at his boyfriend, kissing him one last time before making his way down the ladder and out of the barn, which had basically become their haven away from society since they started dating. 

Coming out into the light, John saw a tall, thin man out in the cotton fields, large brimmed hat protecting him from the sun as he went around watering them. It must be Jim!

Freezing in terror, John stood there for a few seconds, trying make the best decision to avoid being spotted within the few seconds before dashing madly straight for the chicken pens, going to hide behind it. Once he was there, he peered around the corner to see if there was any reaction. None. So, he spotted the forest to the south of the house and went straight for it, sprinting as fast as he could before disappearing into the trees. Once he did so, he sighed with relief, knowing he was in the clear before going off out of the forest and to the streets; making his way back home, hands shoved in pockets and coat collar turned up to hide his face from recognition. 

Speeding quickly home to avoid any spotting or interaction, he finally made it, going around the side gate as usual so the guards wouldn’t dob on the prince having been out all night and coming back at dawn. He wondered - were they even allowed to sleep, or did they just have to stand out there all damn day? Or were there shifts or something? He couldn’t tell, they all looked the same with the uniform. 

Waiting for him at the manor was, of course, his auntie and his fiancé, one looking impatient and the other bored but happy to have someone to talk to other than the queen of Liverpool. 

He greeted them with a somewhat comprehensible grunt, knowing it would piss Mimi the fuck off - and it did, obviously.

“Do not greet people like that, John. We are not pigs.” She scoffed before beginning to walk along, not gesturing for either of the to be married couple to follow; but they knew better than not to anyway. “There a lot of people here for the wedding plans, John. Be on good behaviour or else.” 

He looked out the front windows to see that there were many carriages parked in the front gardens, and as they walked into the largely empty ballroom (it was being used for the displays as it was the biggest area in the manor), showing that there was a bunch of people already there with displays of clothing, tables, veils, wedding archways, cakes, orchestras - pretty much everything that was needed for a gigantic, expensive, unnecessary, unwanted royal wedding. He stared at everything in almost horror at how much there was; and that that was probably only 20% of it. 

“Let’s begin on the archways, shall we?” Mimi clapped her gloved hands together, looking about as delighted as John had probably ever seen her in his life - which wasn’t saying much, as it was almost identical to her normal grumpy expression. 

So, over the next few days, it was all wedding plans for John. They picked out a few archways for optional ones to have; then went to a bunch of the ‘finest’ churches and checked them out before picking one to have it in; he was measured so they could start making up a suit for him; flower arrangements they were to have at the church were picked.   
Even though that was really not that much in the long run, it was a lot within the span of a few days. 

John had managed to visit Paul every night, one of the nights the younger coming to John’s and staying there, both cuddled up together in the middle of the prince’s gigantic bed. Even though it was a bit frustrating they couldn’t be together during the daytime, especially after being apart for a few days, they managed. Seeing each other at all was better than nothing. 

Now it was nearing the end of the week, and one of the days John managed to cut short for himself as Cynthia was getting measured to get a dress made and he didn’t have to be there. So he had organised a late afternoon outing with George, Ringo and Paul. 

“Johnson Lennon! Good ta see ye, mate.” Ringo pulled him into a tight hug with a booming laugh, John hugging back just as tightly with a grin. It was always lovely to see Ringo; his cheerfulness and overall agreeable personality always brightened up the prince’s day. 

“Me full name’s not Johnson, y’know.” John chuckled as they parted. The four of them had met up in a main street in one of the busier streets in the city, the auburn-haired boy all dressed up in a disguise again to avoid detection. Ringo, George and Paul had all come together at the same time. 

“What is yer full name then?” George queried before pulling John into a hug of his own. After he had hugged them all (a little too lingering for Paul and Ringo had to cough loudly to remind them they were in public) they began to walk down the street at a slow pace, just enjoying the view.

“I dunno. There is no full version to John, is there? It’s just just ‘John.’” He shrugged nonchalantly, hands in coat pockets.

“Johnson, though. That must be it?” Paul looked genuinely curious. 

“Nah. Never been called Johnson in me life.”

“Must be just you then.” Ringo quipped with a grin.

“Who cares? ‘m never gonna stop callin’ ‘ im Johnson Winston Lenson from now on. ‘s just too good of an opportunity ta pass up.” George Grinned Evilly For The Thousandth Time. 

“Ta, thanks, Geo. Really ‘preciate it.” John just raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t help but grin.

“Guys, pack it, would ya? ’m hungry, let’s go to th’ chippy.” Paul pointed to the chip shop with a sparkle in his eyes before making a mad dash for it. 

John stood still and watched for a few seconds with a yearning in his chest. Wow, Paul is fucking cute.

“Oi! Stop eyefuckin’ yer boyfriend an’ get yer butt in ‘ere!” Ringo called from the entrance to the shop. The three had already gotten inside during the time John was standing there motionlessly, gaze locked on the spot Paul was in 10 seconds ago; he had caught a few looks from the passersby and it prompted him to quickly run after them inside the chippery. 

After all of them got inside, they made their way through the tables and crowd to the front cashier desk. It was a modest place; not very big with only a few tables and bar-style tables up against the windows and walls, mainly made of dark wood. It was mostly a take-away place so most costumers would just order their food, take and leave to go sit at the docks and eat or something. The kitchen was visible from the cashiers, the chips being cooked on pans in deep oil on stoves. The store had a cosy and friendly atmosphere, loud laughter and chatter combined with the sizzle of hot oil making a perfect cacophony of sounds in the prince’s ears, sounding almost like music. 

“Hey, can we get four small chip packs please? And a chip butty, two Negus’s, [a/n; georgian era drink made of wine, hot water, lemon, sugar, and nutmeg] an’...” Ringo trailed off to look at Paul and John, basically asking what they want for drinks.

“Oh, Negus fer me too.” Paul spoke with a polite nod. 

“Curacoa [a/n; drink made of clarified spirits and orange and sugar] fer me.” John added.

“Okay, tha’s 20 shillin’s.” The cashier smiled at them, and John went to fish money from his pocket that he had brought for this occasion, insisting on being the one to pay despite his friend’s protests (they were secretly relieved, though.) 

“Let’s jus’ ‘ang ‘ere then continue walkin’.” George leant against the counter, and the rest of the group all gathered around him to wait.

“I actually don’t think I’ve ever been to a chip shop..” John crossed his arms as he looked around the place in awe.

“What?” Paul’s eyebrows raised almost off his head in shock. “Never been to a chip shop? Are ye mad?”

“Wha’? Not exactly me fault,” John furrowed his eyebrows but chuckled anyway. “I mean, George or Rings coulda taken me to one, but they never did...” He glared at them accusingly, albeit playfully.

“Hey! Don’t blame us, man!” Ringo and George raised their hands in defence, the youngest of the group grinning cheekily as he spoke. “We never knew ye hadn’t been to a chippy either.”

“Well, ye‘ve both known me fer a while. How could ye not at least guess that I ‘aven’t?”

“I dunno! Wha’ever. Yer ‘ere now, innit? Enjoy yer first chippy trip!” George shrugged before smirking. 

“Speakin’ of chippy, ‘s here.” Ringo piped up as he saw the cashier coming back with their chips and drinks to hand to them. Taking them with a thank you, the four began to leave, munching away happily on their chips.

“Yum, I love these!” John exclaimed with childlike wonder, and Paul watched him with a little giggle, holding up another chip to feed him. John shyly smiled and basically made heart eyes at his boyfriend and let him have a sip of his drink. 

“Eww, stop bein’ so lovey dovey!” George made a fake gagging noise as him and Ringo booed them jokingly, throwing chips at the couple, who turned to glare at them and stick their tongues out.

“I would say stop wastin’ yer chips as ammo is more important, don’t ye think?” John popped another in his mouth.

“Hey, their loss, right?” Paul pretended to cheekily whisper to him, both giggling like schoolboys and beginning to stage whisper “george is an evil git” and “ringo is an idiot” and “let’s steal their chips when they’re not looking and run away”.  
It was a good night. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo! sorry for the delay aaag writers block is an absolute bi t t chhhhh anyWaYs aAA hope u enjoy this!! a little fluff for yal (: not much else to say except hope yal enjoyed and i love u all so much fr !!!!!! byeee <3333


	33. thirty two.

may 1859

A deep, relieved sigh filled the large room that was silent just before; an auburn-haired boy bursting through the door and plonking himself comfortably on the downy sheets of his bed, feet kicking up to rest on the wall behind it as his eyes fluttered closed. Mental and physical exhaustion was clinging onto his body with strength, dragging him down to chain him to the mattress. John could imagine a large, dark figure representing exhaustion staring at him with a sort of wild glee at its accomplishments.   
Digging into his pockets that were stuffed with various fancy-looking snacks - he never really knew what they were made of or anything, but they tasted bloody good at least - he then shoved some chocolate-type-thing into his mouth, relishing the taste with another content sigh.

"Escaped at last, eh?" A second voice filled the room, causing John to almost choke on the food and half-sit up, leaning on his elbows to turn and look at whoever came in; a familiar dark-eyed boy leaning against the doorway with a cheeky, knowing smirk adorning his pale facespagget

Seeing George made him grin, matching his friend who leapt onto the bed, similarly to a cat, causing the bed to shake with the movement. Immediately the boy went for some of the treats John had nicked and took a few for himself; which the prince did not protest to, knowing better than to do so. You always give George your food. Always. Unless you wanna lose a limb.

"Yeah, finally. I am so tired of all this weddin' stuff!" He groaned, rubbing his face harshly with his hands before staring up at the wall. "I miss Paul. I feel like... I wanna be around 'im all the time, that sneakin' out at night isn't enough." He smiled warmly as he remembered their last interaction the night before - meeting him at the side gate and piggybacking the tired boy, who had been weary from a hard day's work, up to his room - the two of them falling asleep curled up together as soon as their heads hit the pillows. "Like- I wanna wake up with him every mornin'. He's so cute in the mornin', he can barely open his eyes an' his nose scrunches up when I suggest we get out of bed. An' he just like clings onto me like a bear if I try ta go an' take a piss-"

"John! Yer ramblin' again. I don't need ta hear how in love ye are with our Macca." George interrupted him with a cheeky eye roll and a grin, resting his chin on his hands. 

"S-" His cheeks flushed as he stuttered. "Shut up. 'm not. Anyroad..." John just turned his gaze to the crumbs now littered all over the bed. "Jus' tired of everythin' right now. But.. I guess I have ta please Mimi. Or I'll get gutted." 

"Very true. How's Cynthia takin' all this, by the way?" George inquired, raising an eyebrow as he sucked on a boiled sweet (way too loudly, causing John to wack him on the arm to get him to stop).

"Way better than I expected, really. It was hard ta get used to fer her, but she came 'round. I'd- rather not talk about it right now actually." His good mood lessened a little as the memories of those events came up, but he quickly brushed it off, locking into a small box in the back of his mind with other things he never wanted to think about ever again.

"All good." George paused. "Back to Paul, though.." He grinned again. "When are ye guys gonna have sex?"

"Wh-" John almost choked on the last potato chip he was munching on and stared at him incredulously. "What?? We have had sex, thank ye very much-" He sat up, crossing his arms indignantly, only to be interrupted again.

"Y'know what I mean. It's a fundamental part to a gay relationship!" He rolled over onto his back, not-so-innocent expression on his face as he grinned up at John. 

"I-I-" Words didn't seem to want to cooperate with him at that moment and he licked his lips, willing his mouth to fucking work for once (not like that you dirty bastards). "I dunno, I mean- Paul probably isn't ready for it yet! 'm not gonna pressure 'im." He twiddled his thumbs in his lap, staring down at it.

"'m sure 'e will eventually. Ye should bring it up to 'im an' see how 'e feels about it." George was way too calm about this all for John's liking. "'sides, ye can teach 'im cause ye've done it before."

"Oh, yeah.." John's mood soured a little at the memory. He regretted the fact that Paul wouldn't be his first time. But it would be the first time it actually meant something.

"No pressure, John. 'm not in control of yer relationship." George shrugged, sitting up and stealing another chip. "But I'll have ye know it's bloody good." 

John hummed, basically disassociating as his mind came up with the most sinful ideas.

Paul thrusting into him, bare chest slick with sweat, the muscles in his arms tensing as he gripped onto John's hips so tightly it bruised-   
watching his face contort with pleasure, languid eyes dark and cloudy with lust

"John! Ye alright?" 

"Wha'huh?" John was pulled out of his reverie with a jump, and he realised that there was blood rushing to his.. nether regions. Feeling his cheeks flush he sat up, moving to hide it away. "Nothin."

"Thinkin' about certain things, aren't ye?" George lit up, bursting out into laughter as he poked John's arm cheekily.

"Pack it, will ye?" John huffed before standing up, grabbing onto George's arms and pulling him off the bed. "See ye later okay? Bye."

"Okay, have fun jerkin' off!" George called as he was unceremoniously shoved out of the room before the door was shut on him. Once John was sure he was gone, he jumped back onto his bed; he had decided he wanted to indulge in his fantasies for a little while longer - so out with George. 

✧✧✧✧✧

"Paul! Lunch!" His father's voice drifted from the back door of the house, interrupting Paul's thoughts and causing him to startle slightly, clutching onto his horse's reins as she galloped along the fields, the crisp wind whipping his hair back and forth, cold seeping into his skin and combatting the warmth he had from all the exercise. 

"Coming!" The raven-haired boy called back, before pulling gently on Ginny's reins and turning her around back the way they came. The horse slowed to a trot as they made their way back to the stables; the sun was particularly bright and hot that day, sweat building up on Paul's back, breath shallow and fast from riding. 

Once they reached the stables - a long wooden-based building with about 10 pens for the horses and an area with riding equipment and horse brushes, etc -   
the doe-eyed boy slowed her down to a stop, patting her neck and muttering comforting words as she did so. Slipping his feet from the footholds, he lifted one foot over her back and swiftly leapt off, taking her reins to lead her through the door, stroking her neck as he did so.

He finally was well enough to take up horse-riding again, one of his favourite hobbies - he started learning at about 11 and ever since, he would go horse riding for hours on end, falling in love with the feeling of the wind in his hair and the scenery flying by. He had gotten Ginny for himself for his 13th birthday, and he loved spending time with her every day; patting her spotty fur and just talking to her about everything like a best friend.

Once she was inside her pen, he took off her saddle and reins before giving her one last pat, moving to grab an apple from the nearby carts as a treat and letting her eat it from his hand. 

"Good girl. I'll come back after lunch to give you yer food an' let ye out to the paddocks." He smiled as she let out a huffing noise, bumping his hand with her snout before he closed the gate. He then put away his riding hat and boots in the equipment area before hurrying out of the stables and to the house; once he made it inside, Jim flashed him a smile as he went to sit on the dining table.

"Woah! A whole roast chicken?" Paul gaped at the food on the table. Roast chicken with regular hard potatoes and a few bits of cut up carrot and beans. 

Mike was already basically inhaling the food, which wasn't surprising at all and Paul quickly took a bite of the sweet chicken himself.

"Where did ye get the money fer this, da'?" He asked in awe.

"A generous tip from one of our regular customers! Very nice lady." Jim was beaming, and it might have been the happiest Paul had seen him for a while. 

"That's great." The eldest son grinned before continuing to eat his meal, downing it extremely quickly and savouring the rarity that was meat. 

"Oh, and- Paul." Jim looked up with a small smile, as if he knew all his deepest darkest secrets and found them somewhat amusing; Paul blinked at him and took a sip of his water, hoping that he wasn't going to extend his grounding or something horrifying like that.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going ta lift yer groundin'." His father ate the last of his potatoes.

"Wh- really?" Paul froze in shock, basically lighting up like a lightbulb at the prospect. "Are ye serious?"

"Yes, don't wear it out." Jim waggled his finger before standing up, collecting their empty plates and taking it to the sink to wash. 

"Can I go out now?" Paul begged with his signature Puppy Eyes, clasping his hands together. 

Mike chuckled, poking Paul on the arm, causing him to shove his hand away with a playful glare. "Paulie wants to go party with 'is friends."

"Shurrup." He huffed, crossing his arms.

"Now, now, boys!" Jim held up his hands before giving a stern look towards Paul. "Starts tomorrow. Rest of today, ye need ta help plant more tomatoes." 

"Alright, da'. Thank ye." He grinned and hugged him briefly before leaving back outside to go feed the horses. 

Finally! He could see George and Ringo without having to sneak out. And John too, of course. They still had to sneak around when they wanted to hang out, but it would lift a lot of strain on their relationship.   
He couldn't wait to tell John and spend as much time with him as humanly possible - without getting grounded again, of course, since the fact that he was hanging out with him and his friends too much caused him to get grounded. 

With a serene expression on his face and a spring in his step, he got to work.

✧✧✧✧✧

"C'mon? Pleaaasssseeee?" 

"But 'm lazyyy! I wanna jus' lay here with ye.." Ringo groaned, holding tighter onto his boyfriend with a sigh, burying his head in his hair and breathing in his scent with a small smile.

"I know, me too- but 'm hungry! Please can we make cookies?" George huffed, stretching his exhausted limbs before sitting up, pulling on Ringo's arms with a whine. "Come'ead! Fer me?" 

"It's 1am." 

"I know, an' 'm hungry." 

"Fine! Fer fuck's sake. But yer cleanin' up if ye make a mess." Ringo sat up as well, George beaming and giving him a big kiss on the lips before bolting out of the room. "Crazy nutter." Ringo giggled to himself lovingly as he watched the cute lanky boy leave before following behind. 

The two were enjoying their time at Ringo's place by themselves, Ringo's parents having gone out to a party and wouldn't be back until tomorrow; so they took advantage of that time and stayed at home together, having sex a few times and just lazing around. It seemed that George suddenly got hungry after another rendezvous and now was forcing Ringo into a baking session.

"Rings! Where's yer bakin' stuff?" George called. Ringo realised he had been standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the floor - he quickly perked up and hurried over into the kitchen, where George was rummaging through the drawers and cupboards (way too loudly and would probably make the neighbours come banging on their door telling them to shut the fuck up). 

"Oi, oi! Yer gonna break somethin', love. Here-" he gently held a hand in front of his boyfriend with a chuckle before moving to a top cupboard, pulling out the flour, sugar and baking powder before getting the milk, butter and eggs from the ice-filled box where they kept dairy. Once he had gotten everything needed, he spread it out on the counter. Since they had a pretty large store and were middle-class wealth, they usually never ran out of supplies for food. 

"Okay. What do we do?" George stared at everything like Ringo put a writhing, 10 legged alien blob on the table and asked him to identify it.

"Well, I'll get a recipe.." Ringo moved to the other side of the bench where a small bookcase was filled to the brim with cookbooks; pulling one out he flipped through it to find the cookie section.

"Mm, 'm so excited!" George rubbed his hands together evilly, wiggling his fingers over the ingredients before they got to work.

First, they whisked the eggs and butter - George getting way too vigorous and ending up splashing some on their clothes; but the dark-eyed boy just scooped it up with his fingers and licked it off, making Ringo grimace, albeit laughing before smacking his fingers away.

"Ye grotty bastard, don't!"

"I don't wanna wastes anythin'! Remember, waste not want not!" He held up a hand before dipping a finger back into the whipped eggs and butter, licking it off again - causing Ringo to make a protesting noise and shove his grubby hands away.

"Stop it! Ye pillock! Yer not 'sposed ta eat raw eggs anyway, it can make ye sick." 

"Well I've done it all me life an' I haven't gotten sick from it at all. So, bullshit." George stuck his hip out, pointing a finger in his boyfriend's direction before dipping it back into the mixture to lick it again.

"Ye look like bloody Paul with that pose." Ringo laughed.

"I've inherited some of 'is bitchiness, from knowin' 'im so long." The boy with large brows laughed as they continued making the biscuits, mixing the flower together and sugar with baking powder etc before mixing all of it together, beginning to knead it to mix it fully together before adding chocolate chips.

"I know right? Honestly him an' John are made fer each other. Both hotheaded mongs."

"Yeah. I also mentioned to John him and Paul doing anal an' he got all horny an' kicked me out."

Ringo burst out laughing at that, spilling the flour all over the counter; which just made him laugh even harder.

"I love that. Hey, babe, look at the mixture- do ye think its good to roll now?" The older smirked, moving the bowl across the bench to the flour spill. 

"Oh, lemme see.." George fell right into his trap, leaning forward to look, and Ringo immediately whacked the flour pile, causing it to fly up into George's face. "Fuck!" He doubled over, holding his face and making half-laugh, half-pained noises. 

"Ha! Take that!" Ringo yelled out triumphantly, pointing in his face before grabbing another handful, throwing it in his face before running off.

"Ye absolute fucker ! C'mere!" George yelled out, running after him (probably carrying the entire bag) and Ringo felt whacks on his back, handfuls of flowers being thrown at him. He ran through the hallways and up the stairs, cackling madly the entire way; but he was caught at the top of the stairs and George threw a giant bunch in his face.

"AAAAHH! Me eyes!" Ringo cried out, temporarily blinded before more flour was dumped on him. He quickly got his revenge though, by wiping his eyes and snatching the bag, throwing some in George's face who quickly ran away, laughing crazily all the while as they chased each other through the house, leaving gigantic flour tracks literally everywhere.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yal sorry lack of updates! been struggling w this chap a bit, u can see it in this chap lol its kinda shit and a bit shorter than usual but oh well :') enjoy !! nothin much more to say except i love u all so much <3333 bye byeee


	34. thirty three.

may 1859

"Where did you say we were going again?"

"Told ya! To Paul's." 

Cynthia held onto John's forearm tighter to keep up with the boy, who was walking increasingly faster and faster, itching to get to his boyfriend's place as quickly as possible; the blonde girl was glancing back and forth with worried eyes, always nervous that someone would recognise them - even though they were dolled up in disguises, she continued to stay on alert since she had never snuck out like this before. John, however was seemingly having the time of his life, humming to himself with a joyful smirk as he strolled along with a spring in his step. 

"What's got you so happy?" Cynthia voiced her thoughts with a raise of an amused eyebrow. 

"'m goin' to see me boyfriend, isn't that enough cause fer happiness?" He shrugged nonchalantly, the grin never ceasing as he did so.  
They were making their way through the docks, various people at stalls yelling things to try and attract customers, or ship captains ordering the workers around, carrying boxes and reeling nets of fish in from the water, etc. The crisp wind of the sea from the River Mersey whipped their clothes every which way, causing them to burrow further into its warmth; the docks were always absolutely packed and swarming with people, since it was a key trading port for most major trading countries. 

"Yeah, true," Cynthia agreed with a chuckle, holding onto her wide brimmed hat so it wouldn't fly off as they continued to squeeze through the crowds. She was staring at everyone and everything in awe and infantile wonder; she probably had never been to the Liverpool docks before at all. She was an outsider, sticking out like a sore thumb - not literally, as she was dressed just like everyone else in that moment - but she had no idea what it was like for them. She grew up in a totally different world, and had nothing to expose her to it. John had his friends, and Paul. He didn't experience it firsthand, per se, but he learnt and witnessed it for himself through them. 

John had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed that they already arrived at Paul's house. He paused in his footing and stared at the dilapidated house for a few seconds before moving to peer through the windows, hoping that he wouldn't be spotted by his father. Not so much worried about his brother, as Paul told him that Mike knew about them a while ago. 

"What are you doing? Why don't we just knock?" Cynthia watched her fiance with a confused expression. 

"Cause of his da'. He.. doesn't know I exist, exactly." He chuckled slightly.

"I know I do, though." A new, but familiar voice cut in from next to them. Looking up in shock, John stared; it was Paul, leaning against the open door with his arms crossed, small smile adorning his face.

"Macca! What are ye-" He straightened, coming over to wrap him up in an embrace.

"Me da an' brother are out at the market fer the day to check how sales are goin'," Paul hugged him back tightly, pressing a brief kiss to his lips before spotting Cynthia standing there awkwardly, hands nervously fiddling with her coat. John felt a bit bad, but he knew that she had to understand the nature of their relationship. The doe-eyed boy smiled softly and came over. "Cynthia, am I right?" He asked.

"Oh, yeah. Hi." She smiled at him, shaking his hand. "You're Paul, huh? The one John never shuts up about?" The girl grinned as she saw John's face go red, seemingly shrinking with embarrassment. 

"Ye talk about me when 'm not there then?" Paul lit up with a smug smirk, turning to look at his boyfriend, who just huffed, eyes cast to the ground below.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go inside." He made his way into the house, Paul and Cynthia following behind, giggling at his expense. 

"This is where you live, Paul?" Cynthia stared at the house in wonder, a wandering hand ghosting over the dust-caked cabinet in the front hallway, a few framed family pictures (try saying that 5 times fast) on top of it, a painting of a lush farm with wildflowers hung up on the brick wall above it. 

"Yeah. Me great-great aunt or somethin' painted that of our farm," He gestured to the painting that the girl was staring at. "This house has been passed down from our descendants for a few generations now."

"Wow," She turned and followed them further into the hallway, through the first door on the left which led to the kitchen. "it's so..." she stared at the tiny kitchen, which didn't have much except a bench, stove, basin and a wooden box with ice which kept their meats and dairy. 

"Small?" Paul half-chuckled, going past the kitchen to the lounge room, John following behind.

"I meant, cosy, more like." She smiled slightly, watching as Paul settled himself on the couch, John next to him with his arm around his shoulders. "It's so.. different. I've never seen a house like this before. I mean, I've gone past them, but not actually been in them." 

"Yeah," Paul sighed, crossing one leg over the other as Cynthia sat down on the armchair opposite them. "'s not much, but it's home." He paused, turning to look at the stairs that led up to the second floor. "Most of us 'ave two or more families in one 'ouse, the Ashers live upstairs." He gestured to it. 

"Really?" Her eyebrows furrowed, turning to look at it, half-expecting people to come down. She turned back to look at him. "Well, tell me about you, Paul." She began to take off her hat and coat.

"I play piano at a local pub. I live with me da' and brother, we own a farm an' also work with wood loggin'." John stood up as he spoke, turning to look at them.

"Anyone want tea?" He asked.

"Yes, please, love." Paul smiled warmly at him, rubbing his arm, Cynthia nodding in agreement before the boy left the room to go to the kitchen.

"That sounds pretty nice. Is working with wood logging hard?" 

"It's hard. Especially durin' winter an' ye have ta go out into the snow." He shrugged slightly.

She stayed silent, expression brooding as she thought to herself; the sound of water beginning to boil drifted from the kitchen in the background. Guilt was tugging on her chest, knowing that she didn't have to work a single day in her life, and this boy had to have 3 jobs alone at 16 to put food on the table. 

"I'm sorry," she looked up at him sincerely, feeling incredibly awkward and out of place sitting there; "about all that, y'know..."

"'s okay." He smiled at her sombrely. "'s not yer fault. I've already had enough of those guilty looks from John." He chuckled.

"Oh, yeah, probably." She paused. "How did you guys meet?"

"Oh, at the masquerade for his 18th. I mean, we already sorta knew about each other, since we had mutual friends." Paul's eyes grew soft at the mention of his friends, grin creeping across his face. John had finished making the tea and was making his way back inside, so he caught the last sentence.

"Ah, George and Ringo," John laughed, putting down their teacups on the little table. "the matchmakers straight from heaven. Or should I say, hell." [you mean gay from heaven, john]

"They were always tryin' ta get me to meet 'im, but I wouldn't have it," Paul reflected on the memories with a giggle. "I can remember what I said to George- "they're all the fuckin' same," and "scumbags, sitting on their velvet sofas, eating 'caviar' and grapes!"" He burst out in laughter at the memory. "I really didn't like John, an' I hadn't even met 'im yet." 

"Ye really said tha'?" John stared at him incredulously, taking a sip of his tea.

"Yeah. That's what I believed ye all did." 

"Well, it's not very far from the truth, for most rich people." Cynthia snickered. "It's honestly so boring; what a lot of 'our people' consider fun."

"Yeah! Sittin' around, orderin' servants to do our biddin' and munch on some chocolate-duboir-steamed-fried-baked-whatever and rage on about the latest fashion or how they were discriminatory somehow that day, and that they were in the right." John raised an eyebrow, nudging Cynthia's foot, both of them remembering many times where they had to deal with people of that sort. 

"I dunno how you two deal with that stuff." Paul laughed. "I would've bloody killed 'em all in the end. Just goin' to that one ball was too hard fer me I had to leave early."

"I dunno eith-"  
There were footsteps coming closer and they looked up, Cynthia stopping mid-sentence; coming down the stairs were two people, a tall balding man and a young, red-haired girl. 

"Eh up, Paul." Mr. Asher nodded at the three, not recognising two of them before going out the room. Jane followed him, but stopped at the door to the kitchen.

"Hey, Paul. John." She nodded at them, before her eyes trained on Cynthia, cheeks going red.

"Cynthia, this is Jane." He gestured to the girl.

"Oh-" Cynthia turned to look at her, both of them locking eyes for several seconds, silence filling the room. "H-hello." She smiled nervously, her own cheeks flushing as she looked to the floor.

John and Paul exchanged a knowing look, smirking smugly.

"Hi.." Jane trailed off, gaze trained on the floor as she kicked her foot against the stone shyly. "I-I'll be in- the kitchen.." she gestured to it, before basically booking it out of there. Cynthia just stared after her, seemingly in shock or something.

"Well that was an.. interesting encounter." John raised an eyebrow, shit-eating grin present on his face as he leaned his chin on his fist. "Mind tellin' us what exactly were you thinkin', Cyn dear?" 

"Huh?" She turned around, looking like she just snapped out of a daydream. "N-nothing." Her cheeks went even redder and her gaze flickered to her lap.

"I don't think that was nothin'.." Paul snickered. "Never seen Jane get all flustered like that."

"I-it was nothing!" She protested feebly. "I swear." 

"Sure, keep tellin' yerself that." John just chuckled, picking up the empty tea mugs and handing them to Cynthia. "Be a dear and clean these will ya? It'll give ye a chance to talk with that little lady, eh?" He winked, the woman just coughing and taking them, standing up.

"Shut it, would you?"

-

Later in the day, Cynthia had left, having chatted to Jane and Paul for a bit, John staying behind. Jane had left too to go to the market, and now the two boys were at home by themselves.  
Currently, Paul was at the stove, cooking up some pancakes while John sat at the bench, elbows resting on it, head in his hands as he watched him. 

A languid smile was painted on his face as he stared, noticing every little detail on his boyfriend's figure - the sun was streaming in through the window placed above the stove, causing Paul's jet-black hair to turn a deep brown, sun-kissed skin flared. He noticed as well that there was a smatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and he was reminded faintly of chocolate-chip cookies.   
Paul's plump lips were turned up in a content half-smile, revealing a sliver of teeth which shone ever so slightly in the light, and he saw that Paul's arms had started growing more hair on them; subconsciously, he reached a hand out and ran a hand along them, causing Paul to look up in amused confusion at him. 

"Oi! What ye doin'?"

"Yer turnin' more an' more into a werewolf. Half expectin' ye to start growin' fangs and a tail." He chuckled, poking him a few times before Paul shoved his hand away, flipping the pancake that was cooking over in the pan. 

"Shut up. At least 'm lookin' more manly, now." He flexed his muscles with a, so-called 'scary' expression, making John burst out laughing.

"Not with that face," he caressed his boyfriend's chin with a smirk. 

"Fuck off." He grinned, leaning in to connect their lips, one hand coming up to cup John's cheek; their moment was cut short, though- when there was a sizzling noise and Paul turned to see the pan beginning to smoke. "shit!" He took the pancake off the pan and put it on a plate. On one side it had turned a coal black. "I burned one." He sheepishly smiler at John.

"Eh, who cares? We got plenty more." He shrugged, moving to take the burnt pancake and drizzle some honey on the non-burnt side, only eating that part. "I'll make sure not to distract ye from yer duties then." He waggled his eyebrows at the boy. 

"'s a bit hard to do when such an angelic, beautiful creature is sittin' right across from me." The doe-eyed boy flashed a warm smile his direction as he flipped the pancake, not burning it this time.

"Says you." John huffed, cheeks going red at the praise. "I think it's more the other way 'round."

"Nah, 'm right." Paul lifted his chin with a finger, kissing his bottom lip briefly, pulling away only slightly to bump their noses together affectionately.

"Paul.." John's eyes were half lidded and he couldn't help but kiss him again, a hand going to card through his hair as he leaned forward in his seat, head tilted to access Paul's addicting lips better; his boyfriend indulged him and moved away from the stove, leaning over the counter and placing his hands on John's shoulders, moving them up and around his neck, thumb caressing the side gently. 

"'m gonna burn them again." Paul spoke against his lips, catching John's bottom lip in his teeth briefly before pulling away with a suppressed grin.

"Fine..." John reluctantly let him go, going back to watching the boy cook the pancakes, letting his head rest in his hands again. 

As Paul cooked them up, they would eat them as he went along, John putting honey on them sometimes or jam, sometimes just eating it with nothing on it. Once there wasn't any mixture left and they were both comfortably full, they both cleaned up their plates ('accidentally' splashing each other with soapy water) and went to cuddle on the couch, John's head resting on Paul's chest, arms wrapped around him and his legs in Paul's lap. The raven-haired boy buried his face in John's cloud-like hair, breathing in the scent of pine needles and cigarettes with a content sigh.

"Mm.."' John made a keening noise and held tighter onto his boyfriend with an uncontrollable grin. "Who knew ye were so good at makin' pancakes?"

"Me. Duh," Paul rolled his eyes, turning to look at him.

"Ah, is that a bit of sass I detect, sir Macca?" John fake gasped, eyebrows raised as he slowly leaned in to kiss him. "I like that in a man."

"Well, yer in luck." Paul giggled before their lips connected, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled him closer, heart racing.

Moving to sit up, John sat in his lap, hands travelling down his back as he parted his lips slightly, deepening the kiss as they went. Paul tilted his head higher to reach him, hands gripping at his arse as he giggled for the second time into the kiss;   
suddenly, John was invaded with images - him lying on his bed, legs wrapped around Paul's bare waist as he thrusted into him, his boyfriend's face contorted in pleasure above him - 

"GaaAAh-" John made a half-moaning, half-exclaiming noise as he leaped up off of Paul's lap, standing there with eyes as wide as dinner plates, and face turning steadily tomato red. Shut the hell up, brain, for fucks sake! Why do you have to do that right now??

"John! Woah, you okay?" Paul sat there with confused eyes, lips reddened from kissing, hands still hanging in the air where they were just cupping John's butt. 

"W-uhm! Nothing!-" John spat out, eyes trained on the floor. 

"God, so good, John-" Paul groaned into his chest

"Mhuh-" John almost moaned out loud, feeling an embarrassing tent begin to rise in his pants, quickly backing away from Paul who stood up, watching his boyfriend in utter confusion and slight concern.

"John, what the hell is-"

"I gotta go! Urgent- urgent thing with Mimi! Right. Now." He smiled sheepishly at him, now trying to hide the steadily growing boner - 

\- nimble hands gripping at his hips so tight, the knuckles turning white- 

"Ffffff- yeah! Bye love! See you later! Bye!" He pressed a kiss to Paul's cheek before bolting out of there before he busted a nut right then and there, sprinting as quickly as he could away from the situation. 

Paul stood there in the lounge room, staring at the spot John was just in. 

"What the fuck was that all about?"

As for John- he was going straight home, thinking to himself "shit, I really gotta tell Paul how I'm feeling before I cream my pants every time we're about to have sex."

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> waddup yal! sorry this isnt so long either i just wanted to put in sum fluff and shit (: anyway hope yal enjoy this !!!! luved writing some mclennon fluff except why did john have to ruin the sexy time and get all flustered ):< bad john!!! anyroad ily all ty for reading plsss leave feedback !!💕💕bye bye <333


	35. thirty four.

may 1859

"Hey! Gimme back me liquorish."

"C'mon, lemme just have a bite!" George pleaded, already taking half of the thing into his mouth and tearing it off, making a loud 'mmmmm!' noise as he did so; causing Ringo to roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Twat!" The azure-eyed boy groaned, snatching it back to put into his pocket, sending one last glare to his content boyfriend, who was chewing happily on the treat.

Paul watched on with a chuckle. The group were strolling the Liverpool marketplace, kicking up dust on the dirt path as they darted from stall to stall - especially John, whose expression was lit up in an almost childlike wonder, excited grin upon his face as he continued to bombard his boyfriend with questions like "whats this stall for?" and "can I buy this golden ring thing?" and "why not? It's only 300 dollars!" 

Speaking of, John jumped up to him with elated eyes, nodding his head in the direction of a particular stall which displayed types of leather shoes. 

"That's so cool! Sellin' shoes!" He chuckled, dipping his hand back into the brown paper bag he clutched in his other hand, which was filled with lollies they bought from the sweet stall, taking out a strawberry-flavoured boiled sweet and popping it into his mouth. God, he is so cute. Paul grinned, reaching and resting a hand on the boy's hip briefly, pulling him closer- but since they were in public, surrounded by people, he couldn't do anything - so he let him go.

"You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now," he breathed into the boy's ear, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as he grinned at John before turning away, following after George and Ringo who were bickering over their food again. 

"Me too, ugh! Why do people have to be prejudiced?" John whispered back with a giggle, letting his hand rest on his lower back before hurrying after him. 

It was quite a hot day today, the sun suspended high in the sky with its unfailingly bright rays - a constant in the summer life, even if it was much weaker in places like England; the dirt road below was soaking up its rays, burning hot beneath their feet. John was the only person in the group who decided to put shoes on, the rest going barefoot, used to the normality of poorer people generally not having any shoes to wear, or simply just deciding not to. They didn't seem bothered by it, which confused John a bit, seeing them expertly dodge broken glass or trampling feet from other passersby with ease. He still had much to learn about the rest of the world.   
Paul's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, along with his pant legs, and no one seemed to notice the group's dishevelled appearance, since a lot of the people walking about looked very similar. 

"Shit, that's our stall." Paul froze in his spot, staring at a certain tiny little stall, which was wedged between a jewellery store (which, Paul remembered, Mick Jagger owned with his other friends) and a liquor store. There his father was, working at the stall with Jane's father, who usually manned the sales part of the farm; Jim must be checking up on the sales.

"Paulie. George, Ringo." Jim nodded at them in greeting before turning back to the customer they were tending to. But he paused when he spotted John with them, standing close to Paul, their shoulders brushing. "Oh, who's this?" He spoke up, looking at John with a scrutinising gaze, as if he was trying to peer into his soul and see if he was secretly the prince of Liverpool. 

"Oh, me friend John.. uh," Paul paused. "Winston. Yeah." He half-smiled at his father, albeit his eyes flashed nervously.

"Hello." John spoke up with a small wave. Paul could see in his tense muscles and twitching eye that he was ready to book it if he was going to be murdered.

"Ah. Alright, carry on." Jim stared only for a moment longer, before seemingly dismissing them and turning away with a wave of a hand, back to tending to his customers.   
The group took that as permission and scrambled away, John letting out a giant breath and relaxing, letting go of Paul's arm that he had a death grip on, causing the doe-eyed boy to rub it to ease the pain.

"I swear to god- he knows all of me dirtiest, darkest secrets an' is judgin' me sins." John looked terrified, and Ringo burst out laughing.

"Genuinely thought he was gonna skin ye fer the entire market ta see." George munched on a chocolate with his usual deadpan expression, seemingly totally unbothered by what he said. 

"That would've been interestin', eh?" Ringo quipped with a raise of an eyebrow. 

"Hey! Yer 'sposed ta be on my side, bints!" John playfully glared at them.

"'s okay, John. He reacted pretty much the same with me other friends, don't worry." Paul reassured him with a warm smile, nudging his shoulder before stuffing his face with potato chips. 

"Right." John rolled his eyes. "But I don't think yer other friends are also the prince of the city they live in." 

"Come'ead! 's fine." Paul giggled. Hearing his boyfriend laugh did lift John's spirits a bit, and he smiled shyly, cheeks dusted with pink slightly as he discreetly brushed their hands together.

"Ugh! Stop bein' so gross an' lovey!" George groaned, throwing a jelly baby in their vague direction as they continued to squeeze through the crowds. They just laughed, ignoring their friend's protests as they continued to gaze at each other lovingly.

Until something shiny flashed in the corner of John's peripheral vision, making him halt in his footing and direct his gaze towards it. He couldn't see it very well from there, but he saw shiny stones and bracelets displayed in a stall shrouded by tattered, dark curtains. A middle aged woman sat at the front, seemingly preoccupied with arranging some of the stuff she was selling; before he could stop himself, John's feet were already walking towards it, and he stopped once he reached the display. He could feel his friend's eyes boring into his back, but he didn't care at that moment.

"There." He breathed. 

A certain bracelet was displayed at the very front of the stall. It was a silver chain, but decorated with deep green and yellow crystals - his face lit up with a tiny smile as he dug into his pocket for his money, before turning to look at the shop-owner.

"'scuse me, how much fer this?" He gestured to the particular bracelet. 

The woman looked up from her task momentarily, spotting the boy there, before turning back to it indifferently.

"50 pounds." 

Wow. That's pretty cheap, John thought to himself, but he just handed over the amount of money to the woman's outstretched hand, picking up the bracelet and examining it in the light, watching the way it bounced off the crystals. Perfect. Smiling wider now, he thanked the owner before walking off, pocketing the bracelet for later.

"What'd ye buy?" Paul asked curiously, eyes searching for whatever John bought. But, he just discreetly entwined their hands and kept walking, smiling at him secretively.

"Later." 

"Oi guys! Let's go down to the beach, eh?" George piped up, expression lighting up with his idea.

"Yeah! Race ye guys to the docks, whoever's last has ta pay fer chips!" Ringo belted the words out before tearing off, giving himself a head-start as the rest of the group struggled to catch up.

"Fucker! Thanks for warnin' us!" Paul yelled at him with an incredulous laugh.

So, off they went - thundering footsteps through the streets, darting between crowds, George accidentally knocking a man's beer out of his hands to smash on the ground as he bounded past, causing the man to yell after them angrily. Their raucous laughter echoed through the drab suburbs, almost making the place seem warmer to hear such a joyous sound in such a dull area. John couldn't stop grinning the entire time.

So this is what it felt like to be free. No expectations. Just you and the people you love, wind whipping against their elated skin, sun beating down on their faces; free. He didn't have to please anyone, he didn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn't. He didn't have to pretend to love someone whom he didn't love.

John could definitely get used to this. In fact, when he heard Mimi's nagging voice in the corner of his mind - "don't be a disgrace to the family" - it made him crave more. His friends were opening his eyes to this life of freedom, and real people. He couldn't get enough.

"Oi, John! Ye okay? Yer driftin' off again." He was brought back to reality by Paul's voice, and he blinked away the thoughts. They had already made it to the beach which expanded on for miles and miles, Ringo and George jumping up and down in joyous triumph a few metres away, yelling;

"John ye loser! Ye gotta pay now!"

He didn't notice them whatsoever, though - Paul was all he could see. 

Not thinking twice, he grabbed onto Paul's shirt and pulled him into a fervent kiss, sucking in a breath through his nose. Paul quickly melted into it, hands coming up to John's back, head tilting to deepen it before they pulled away, short of breath and giggling slightly.

"Get a fuckin' room, would ya? Someone coulda seen that!" Ringo laughed.

"I don't think I could bring meself to care right now." Paul bit his lip again, pecking John's lips one last time before letting go of him. 

"C'mon, 'm hungryyyy! Let's get chips!" George whined, coming up to the two and shaking the prince's arm incessantly, causing him to shove his persistent hands away and glare at him.

"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, 'm not goin' by meself." The auburn-haired boy chuckled, leading them away as they went back to the docks to the chip shop. Still no one was bothered by how dishevelled they looked, and John was almost laughing to himself. How different it all really was...

"Four chip packets, please." John spoke to the person at the front, leaning against the counter before turning to his friends. "Drinks?"

"Beer, please, " Paul smiled softly.

"Same here." George piped up.

"Me too." Ringo agreed.

After ordering their food and paying, the waiter coming back with their drinks, they waited by the counter, similar to when John first went to the chip shop with them.

"Shit, I've never run tha' bloody long in me life!" The second oldest of the group took a swig of his beer with a breathless laugh, still trying to catch his breath from the whole ordeal.

"'Cause yer a pampered pansy!" George rolled his eyes, whacking his arm. "Reckon we 'ave ta teach 'im the ways of the streets, Paulie?" He turned to his best friend with a smirk.

"Guess we do." Paul grinned at John, leaning on the counter next to him. "Can't have ye runnin' round in designer clothes an' not know anythin' about the workin' class world." 

"Lennon at yer service, General Macca!" John stood straight, holding a hand up to his forehead in salute, causing his boyfriend to giggle. He could never get over that sound - it made his heart flutter like a butterfly and his stomach to churn and want to hear it again and again until Paul lost his voice.

"Oh! Food's here!" Ringo saw the waiter coming back with their food in brown paper bags, taking them with thanks as they walked out of the store. 

"Mmm! Delicious nutrients!" George grinned as he stuffed his mouth with the hot chips. Of course, the grin was wiped off 2 seconds later as he began to spit the chips back out, making odd noises as they basically set his entire mouth on fire.

Making a 'tsk' sound, Ringo shook his head, wiping his boyfriend's chin, fussing over the boy that was spitting and coughing. "George, ye pillock! Wait 'til they're cool, remember?" 

"I was hungry!" He whined again.

John and Paul exchanged a knowing look, sniggering. Typical George. Turning away, they entwined their hands again, fingers interlocking as they walked along the beach. 

Sand sinking between their toes, the ocean wind caressing their bodies, tousled hair flying in all directions. Sea spray wetting their clothes. The sound of crashing waves and distant voices calling back and forth from the docks filling their ears. 

Suddenly, John was reminded of his mother. How they would go to the docks together, the few times they actually were able to meet up. When he finally began to learn who she was, when she suddenly came back into his life in a whirlwind of fiery hair and windswept grins.  
He turned to look at Paul. His blackbird hair framing his sun-kissed face, forest-brown eyes turned a paling olive green in the light, thick dark eyelashes framing them perfectly. He wondered, would Julia have liked Paul? Would she have been accepting of their relationship? Would she understand how much this boy truly meant to John?

"Guys! I saw a dolphin jump out the water just over there!" Paul pointed to the never-ending expanse of water with a wide grin directed towards John, popping a chip in his mouth, a single grain of salt visible on his chapped bottom lip.

"Bullshit! They wouldn't be this close to the docks!" Ringo shoved his shoulder.

"No, I really did! I swear!"

And John realised at that moment - yes. Yes, she would have. 

-

The group had walked further along the beach for about half an hour, the sand being slowly replaced with rocks as they went along. They were sitting on the sun-soaked, water-worn rocks that had expanded out into the water, creating a perfect little bridge to run along and sit on. It was tall enough so only their feet would caress the surface of the cool, deep, blue-jay-coloured water. 

They had finished their chips and beer long ago, and George and Paul had been stripped of their shirts, the former lying on his back, head in Ringo's lap as he soaked up the warm ways of the sun; the latter was lying on his stomach across a wide-shaped rock, arms dangling over the edge, a finger twirling within the water languidly. John sat next to Paul, hand caressing his exposed back as he stared into the water, Ringo next to John, and they were comfortably silent at the present moment, just enjoying the time they were having together.

John decided to break the silence momentarily, though, turning to his boyfriend with a slightly vulnerable expression.

"Hey, uh- Macca?" He spoke softly.

"Mm?" Paul made a nose, still staring down into the water as he swept his hands back and forth along the surface.

"I, uhm- got somethin' for ya." John grinned when he saw Paul lift his head, curiosity sparking in his deer-like eyes as he sat up with a grunt, throwing his legs over the edge of the rocks like John.

"Ooh! What is it?" Paul turned to him with an excited smile, arm wrapping around the older boy's lower back, hand resting on his hip.

"Well..." John trailed off, rummaging for the bracelet in his pocket before grabbing onto it. "close yer eyes." He turned to the other boy, who nodded, eyes shutting, eyelashes falling against his upper cheekbones. "Hold out yer hands." The prince instructed, Paul doing so obediently.

He pulled out the bracelet, gently holding onto Paul's wrist as he placed it in his calloused hands, clasping his nimble, long fingers closed around it. 

"Open yer eyes." John murmured, slowly letting go of his hands to rest his own in his lap, nervously chewing the inside of his cheek, thinking of Paul's reaction.

Doing so, the boy opened his fingers to find the shimmering bracelet in his palms.

"J-John!" He gasped in absolute shock, mouth falling open as he examined the piece of jewellery in wonder and awe. 

"Think of it as.. an early birthday present." The older boy smirked when Paul's head lifted to lock eyes with him.

"H-how much did this fuckin' cost? It looks like it could've been a million pounds!" The stuttering boy's face was lit up with a grin, holding up the bracelet to look at it in the light. 

"Only 50." John shrugged slightly, scooting closer and wrapping his arms around Paul's bare waist with a warm smile. "I figured you'd like it." 

"It's- it's-" Paul breathed, turning to look at John with flushed cheeks. "wonderful." 

Suddenly, John's face was grabbed and Paul was kissing him. Not that he was complaining, of course; he just held onto his boyfriend tighter and melted into it with an uncontrollable grin, loving the taste of salt on his plump, addicting lips.

"Yer fuckin' amazing, Johnny. Wow. Thank ye so, so much-" Paul spoke when they pulled away, foreheads leaning on each other as they gazed into each other's eyes. "how the hell will I ever repay ye?"

"No, no, ye don't have ta. This is fer ye." John rolled his eyes, lifting his head to gently grab onto Paul's left arm. Taking the bracelet, he carefully slipped it onto his wrist, fastening it on so it wouldn't fall off easily. Staring down for a few seconds, he slipped his hand into Paul's, locking their fingers together easily. John felt like their hands fit together so perfectly; like pieces to a puzzle, but the puzzle was their hearts. Nothing else fit in theirs but each other's. Staring up into each other's eyes again, John couldn't help but feel his stomach flutter again, heart racing, cheeks flushed, a certain feeling he had never really felt so strongly before - coming up thickly in his throat, choking him almost as he gazed at Paul. Could I really be... truly and honestly, falling in-

"Ewwww! Stop eyefuckin' an' get a room!"

Suddenly, John was shoved into the water below with a shriek. Freezing cold water enveloped his body, thoughts shoved out the window as he swam up to the surface, immediately gasping for breath, sucking in precious air into his lungs as the cold water began to settle into his skin.

"G-GEORGE! Fuckin' - ye fucking BELLEND! We were havin' a MOMENT there!" John shivered horribly, overcome with anger as he tried to remember what he was just thinking about, swimming back to the rocks and scrambling his way up and out of the water, clothes completely soaked and dripping, stuck to his body, hair drenched and sticking to his face. 

"WOAH! Jesus, chill out, John. I was just messing' round!" George laughed, shocked slightly at how angry John seemed to be.

"Hey, John, 's okay!" Paul smiled warmly up at him, standing up next to him and grabbing his arm. "Look, watch-" He turned to George, who was still lying across the rocks, grabbing onto his legs and beginning to drag him away from Ringo, who just giggled and watched George be subjected to his fate.

"Oh god, NO NO NO PAUL PLEASE NO GOD NO-" George was frantically screeching like a banshee, clawing and kicking at Paul in an attempt to get him off, but Paul was an expert in George behaviour, not deterred by any of it as he gathered the writhing boy in his arms and began to swing him back and forth, preparing him to throw.

"Sorry, George! Gettin' a taste of yer own medicine!" Paul, with raucous laughter, threw a screaming George into the ocean with a gigantic splash, wintry water flashing up and soaking their legs. 

"Oh my god!" John and Ringo shrieked in laughter at the sight, standing up and coming to stand next to Paul at the edge of the rocks, watching as George bubbled up to the surface, spluttering and gasping at the icy substance.

"'m comin', my love!" Ringo called down to him before beginning to strip, taking off his shirt and pants until he was just in boxers, discarding the clothes on the rocks, leaping gracefully after his boyfriend into the ocean. 

"Let's join them!" Paul chortled, grinning at John before leaping and grabbing onto him, wrapping his arms and legs around his body like a monkey. John let out an "oof!" at the weight, but he just held onto him and nodded with a grin.

"Three... two..." Paul began to count down. "One!"

They then bounded off the edge, plummeting to their demise with eyes tightly shut before they were enveloped in the chilly water. After a few seconds of adjusting, John opened his eyes in the water, seeing the blurry figure of Paul in front of him as the salty water stung his eyes a little. Realising suddenly he needed to have oxygen, he swam up and burst above the water, Paul coming up beside him shortly after.

"H-h-holy shit 's ccc-cold!" Paul's teeth chattered slightly, eyes wide as he clung onto John for warmth like he was the last person on earth. 

"You mong! 'm gonna get ye fer this, McCartney!" George yowled a battle cry as he descended upon the black-haired boy, the latter darting away with a peal of laughter, desperately swimming away from his friend (John swore George's eyes went bright red, channeling the devil or something as he rampaged) who scrambled after him with furious yells.

"And off they go!" Ringo yelled as he broke down in laughter. 

John couldn't stop grinning.

-

"Ye guys can borrow some dry clothes of mine while yer's dries. 's in the bedroom opposite the bathroom." George called after the couple as they made their way through the house. 

"Thanks, Geo." John smiled at him before going into the spare bedroom, Paul following behind. "Right, clothes.." He muttered, opening up the wardrobe and rummaging through the clothes, picking out some for them, even if they would be too small on John, since George was a skinny bastard and John wasn't.

The group had played around in the water for a while, having water fights and just lazing around, enjoying the sun along with it. As the sun began to go down, they got out and made their way back to George's place, drenched and leaving behind a trail of water, but content with their experience, joking and laughing all the while. 

Once they picked clothes, the two made their way to the bathroom. Once inside, John struck a match and lit the oil lamps placed around the room; since it was dark, the sun almost fully sunken below the horizon. The flames created a warm setting to the room as they stripped of their clothes, until they were in nothing but their boxers. 

John couldn't help but let his eyes wander, trailing over Paul's exposed chest, his skin stained orange with the light - down to his stomach and the fuzzy black hairs that led down his navel - quickly, he tore his gaze away from the delightful sight, embarrassed, turning back to getting ready to dress in the dry clothes. His heart was beginning to race, and thoughts of possible things that could occur that night began to crawl into his mind, causing arousal to shoot up his stomach, blood rushing to his nether regions as the lewd images appeared in front of his eyes. 

But, there was a gentle hand that came to rest on his chest, causing him to pause in his movement's gazing up into Paul's face. The boy's eyes had darkened, pupils dilated as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth. His hand slowly travelled up his chest to his boyfriend's neck, up to cup his hot, flushed cheek. 

"Paul," John sucked in a breath at the feather-light touch, that was barely there but oh-so-hot, turning him on wildly as he closed the gap between them, arms wrapping around Paul's waist to caress his lower back. Their hot breaths mixed in the air, lips inches away - John couldn't take it anymore. 

He reached forward and connected their lips, feeling arousal pooling in his abdomen as they kissed deeply, hands grabbing at each other's bare skin as the need and want began to swallow their minds, desperate for contact. 

"God, need you right now-" Paul breathed in his ear, tongue darting out and licking a stripe along the shell of his ear, causing John to groan aloud, Paul pushing him backwards until he was pressed up against the wall. 

"Same here. Yer lookin' mighty fine, tonight, Sir Macca." John huskily chuckled, hands wandering up and carding through his boyfriend's thick, dark hair. 

"Why thank you," Paul giggled, sending a wink his way as his hand began to travel down John's stomach, the bracelet he was still wearing cold against his skin as he reached the waistband of his boxers, hooking two fingers into them before gazing up at him for permission.

Immediately, seeing the look in his eyes; John's thoughts went to.. what had been occupying his mind for some days.

Lustful, droopy eyes gazing down at him, arched brows furrowed in pleasure, sweat dripping down his forehead, hands gripping at his thighs as he thrusts into him- 

"Unh! Fuck-" John hissed, bucking into thin air as he threw his head back, insanely erect now at the thoughts that filled his head. 

Paul drew back in shock slightly, having seen something flash in John's eyes that was familiar, but confusing as he didn't do anything except.. touch his briefs. Confusion was present on his expression, but again, his horniness took over and he just slipped off John's boxers, doing the same with his own. 

Spitting onto his palm, nimble fingers wrapped around both their erect cocks, giving them a tentative tug before beginning to pump his hand expertly and quickly. 

"Shit! Ah-" Paul grunted, pleasure shooting through their bodies as he rested his head on John's shoulder, chests pressed together and beginning to build sweaty as they went.

Paul's cock thrusting inside him, his own rutting up against his boyfriend's stomach, making him buck his hips- 

John let out an inhumane noise, hands coming up to dig into Paul's back as he let the fantasy fill his mind, causing precum to already build up in his dick. 

"You like that?" Paul huffed, dragging his teeth along the skin of his shoulder to his neck, nipping at his collarbone as he pumped his hand faster and faster.

"Shit! Harder- inside me-" John hissed out, hips bucking again involuntarily as precum spilled from the tip and coating their dicks and Paul's hand.

"W-what- ah! Are you talkin' ah-about-" Paul's hand momentarily slowed at hearing the words, lifting his head to gaze at him hazily, confusion seeping through his lust. 

"Faster! Uh! Please, M-" John moaned, burying his head in Paul's shoulder and shutting his eyes, pleasure building up faster and faster as he felt himself begin to get closer to the edge.

"'m so close-" Paul moaned into his chest, thrusting into him at an animalistic speed as he simultaneously pumped John's dick- 

"Paul!-" John cried out, suddenly and unexpectedly coming onto their stomachs, basically seeing stars as he let out one last groan, digging into Paul's back with his nails harshly as he did so. 

Slowly, he came down from his high, the visions disappearing as he came back to reality. Paul was staring at him through hazy confusion, hand still clasped around his own achingly hard cock. After a few more tugs, Paul's grunt's filling the room, he came, his cum spilling onto the floor between them, huffing and puffing.

The two caught their breath for a few seconds before Paul decided to address the ... elephant in the room. 

"What was that?" He raised an expectant eyebrow at John, reaching for a towel and beginning to clean up the mess they made. 

"What was what?" John breathed huskily, licking his lips before staring down at Paul with half-lidded, cloudy eyes. 

"You know what. Yer actin' weird when we do anythin' sexual. What the hell's goin' on?" Paul threw the towel behind them, glaring at John before turning to pull on the dry clothes they brought with them.

"Wha-I-" John stuttered, knowing that Paul would have already noticed John's strangeness (he wasn't exactly subtle) but not really expecting him to confront him about it. Well, yeah he knew Paul would bring it up - but he had no idea how to say it. 'Hey, uhhh I want you to fuck me in the ass.'

"Are you losin' interest in me? Just tell me now, so I can stop botherin' with ya. C'mon, I can take it-" Paul crossed his arms, staring him down with his signature McCartney Stare.

"What? No! No way am I losin' interest in ye!" John cut him off quickly, staring at him in shock at such an accusation. "I would ne-"

"Aye, ye have before. Stuart. Cynthia. That Brian man." Paul just raised an indifferent eyebrow. "Wouldn't be so surprisin' if ye did the same with me."

John stared at him in horror, feeling a terrified cold feeling seep into his spine when a certain thought came into his head. Them breaking up. Brian was just a small fling! They weren't really together, it was like a 4 night stand. Stuart, he did have more feelings for, but Stuart left him! Not the other way around. And Cynthia...

"N-No! No- I'm-" He couldn't even manage to get the words out, his heart beating so fast against his rib cage so hard it might explode, hands reaching up to grip his boyfriends shoulders. "No. 'm not. Please, ye have ta believe me. Trust me, they were all different situations, but yer different! 'm serious!" He stared at him in growing insecurity and fear, rising up like bile in his throat and threatening to spill out onto the ground.

Paul's expression softened, growing slightly sad as he let his arms uncross. "Then.. why are you actin' so weird?"

"I-" John stopped himself, sighing in relief as he saw Paul relax, causing him to relax himself. "It's. Uhm..." His cheeks flushed red as he let go of the other boy, twiddling his thumbs together. "Gaah- I dunno how to say it.." 

Paul just stood there, his expression morphing from 5 different emotions, insecurity one of them, within a few seconds before settling on indifference, the McCartney mask building up all over again to hide his feelings. John saw it happen in front of his eyes, and he grew scared again, scared of Paul building up a wall around him, blocking John out from letting him in, forcing him outside, watching as Paul continued to push him away with nothing able to be done about it.

"Paul-" John started.

"Let's just go to bed." Paul cut him off, turning on his heel and walking out of the bathroom, now fully dressed.   
John watched him go with a horrible helpless feeling, pulling on clothes of his own and coming into the bedroom.

When he got there, Paul was already in bed with the covers pulled up, facing away from him, the only thing that was visible being the top of his head. 

Shit. John really had fucked it up. He couldn't let them go to bed like that. He had to tell Paul the truth. He could see Paul was thinking it was something that it wasn't. 

"Paul. Please, listen to me-" The boy just buried further into the covers as John crawled into the bed, slipping into the covers beside him before looking up at the ceiling above them.

"I want to have sex with you."

Dead silence for several seconds. Until suddenly, Paul burst out from the covers and whacked John harshly on the chest, the bracelet whacking against it and making it sting more.

"OW! What the fuck?" John hissed, rubbing his chest with a grimace.

"We already have fuckin' sex, prat!" Paul glared.

"Y-yeah- we do-" John nodded, feeling his cheeks go even more red as he twiddled his thumbs again, gaze directing to them. "B-but like. Y'know." 

"No, I don't," Paul crossed his arms. "Care to explain?" 

"Okay well.." John paused, eyes shutting tight. here goes.. "Iwantyoutofuckmeupthearse."

"Huh? All I heard was want an' fuck." Paul's brows furrowed, anger forgotten and replaced by confusion. 

"I want you.." John spoke so softly, it could have been mistaken for the wind. "To fuck me up the arse." 

Radio silence.

"You-" Paul's eyes went as wide as dinner plates, entire face going beet red, mouth dropping open like a fish. "Oh." His voice was deadly quiet. 

"Sorry, I really am-" John started.

"Shut the fuck up." Paul held onto his arm briefly, before going to examine his nails. "Well, uh..." He kicked his lips. "We'll uhm. See. Y'know. Maybe.. tomorrow, y'know. Uh.. yeah. How about tomorrow. Okay. Yeah. Goodnight." He threw himself onto the mattress and pulled up the covers,facing away from John before he began to fake snoring noises.

This is gonna be interesting .. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEHE yall so here's some mclennon!! hope yall enjoy this chapter, dont have much to say except heehehehehheehej ok it's late for me i acrually cant think im brain dead so byeeee hope yal enjoy ily all stay safe <33333


	36. thirty five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay guys just a warning !!! this chapter is basically just sex so like just skip this whole chapter if u dont wanna see it anyways ya (: enjoy

may 1859

"God, lookin' back on it makes me want ta crawl in a hole an' die." John's muffled voice sounded from beneath the many pillows that he had buried himself face-down in.

"Would ye stop whinin'?" Ringo rolled his eyes from the spot on his desk, where he was writing a letter to his auntie about something - but John wasn't really worried about that at the moment. John let out a groan and rolled over onto his back, sprawled out on Ringo's large bed, training his troubled gaze on the peach-coloured ceiling above. "It wasn't tha' bloody bad. Sounds like Paul is down fer it."

"I know, but I really like..." He trailed off, licking his lips as he fought for the right words. The memory of getting so caught up in his fantasies and Paul's utter confusion in his face popped into his mind, causing him to roll back onto his stomach and bury his head in his arms. "I am so shit at communicatin' what I want sometimes!" He let out a half-outcry, half-chuckle as he slowly sat back up, resting his back against the bed's headboard.

"Ye got that right." Ringo let out a laugh, turning around on his chair so he was sitting on it backwards, resting his forearms on the top and smirking down at his best friend. "Look, 'm sure 's gonna be fine. 's not yer first time," he paused.

"It is for Paul though." John cut in with a raise of an eyebrow. "With a man, at least." 

"True. But from what ye told me he said, 'm sure it's gonna be fine. I wish ye luck, mate." Ringo smiled more warmly this time, lifting a leg and nudging John's leg with his foot; which was dangling off the edge of the bed.

"Thanks. 'm dead scared, but if it goes well..." He trailed off, thoughts of what could transpire that night - when the two planned to do it - clouding his mind and causing his cheeks to go beet red and eyes widen.

"Ugh, I don't wanna hear anymore." Ringo mocked disgust with a laugh, before standing up, folding up the letter he wrote. "C'mon, gotta post this. Let's go off to the pub fer a few after, eh? Not enough to get hammered, though," he watched John hop off the bed with a joyful grin, whacking his back with a smirk. "gotta make sure ye remember this night!"

"Christ, pack it, would ya?" John's cheeks somehow flushed even more and he pushed Ringo off him with a roll of his eyes. "Yer never gonna let me forget this."

"Trust me, I won't."

"George's gonna hear about it too, won't 'e? An' he's gonna tell every single person we know ever an' he'll haunt me dreams fer all eternity?"

"You bet." Ringo puffed out his chest proudly as they left the house into the afternoon light.

✧✧✧✧✧

Some people say people do stupid things for love. That it confuses you, befuddles your mind and leave you in a whirlwind of beating hearts, fluttering chests, and stumbling words. Some people also say that love can clear your mind, almost give you a sort of - tunnel vision; show you the path you ought to walk in life. Love is a universal experience that is shared all around the world; whether it be platonic, romantic, paternal, etc - the majority of humanity experiences it at some point. Everyone feels different things and makes different actions in the name of the experience we, as a species - crave.

As for John Lennon, he was braving the streets of Liverpool, weaving through crowds and wet alleyways at great personal risk, for love. His sleepy eyes were squinted against the evening sun as it sank beneath the horizon, staining the city he was so fond and familiar with with rich, deep oranges and reds - the sounds of jubilant voices and thudding footsteps, clashing of water against boat from the docks, as the creatures of the night began to emerge; regular pub-goers, prostitutes, urchins, the like.

But none of it seemed to affect the agitated prince - he was lost within his own thoughts, a regular occurrence for him. A hand constantly running through his downy chestnut locks, hazel eyes staring unblinkingly at the moving ground below, anxious footsteps quick and agile as he reached closer and closer to his destination. The atmosphere around him changed, roads turning to dirt, houses growing more and more dilapidated as he went on; shops and markets transforming into endless farm fields, the smell of mulch and dust accompanying the sights. Something he wasn't familiar with whatsoever.

Until he met Paul, of course. 

Paul McCartney. A very strong constant in his life at that point. He had burst into his life suddenly like a flame exploding into action, hot flames licking up his body and consuming all the oxygen from him - and he welcomed every second of it. The boy was irrevocably stubborn, unfailingly kind, willing to stand up for what he believed in, intelligent, headstrong; and so, so addicting to John. His life had changed very much that year - before this year, the two weren't even friends. Knew of each other, yes - but Paul was very persistent on not associating with him. So much had changed since then. And John would say it had for the better. 

Speaking of, the prince was now standing outside his house. It was a modest house, with peeling white paint, crumbling bricks, rotting wood - and two families in each floor. A regular poor/working class home. It always had a warm feeling inside it, though - a feeling of family. Something that was pretty much entirely foreign to John.   
Jim was a strict man sometimes, and preferred to keep his kids in line and teach them good discipline, but he wasn't heartless. He was very accepting of his children's hobbies and friends the majority of the time. He was even accepting of John. The problem is, though.. he didn't know that John was the prince of the city they lived in. Just a minor setback, of course.

Instead of going up the dark wooden porch (which often looked like it would collapse under you if you tried to put your weight on it) he veered off to the right, towards the window on the corner that would see into the tiny one bedroom the McCartney family all shared. Its tattered curtains were pulled shut, so he couldn't see inside - it worried him a little, causing him to itch the side of his face; which was beginning to dampen from the sticky spring air (it reminded him that summer would start in only a month or so), because he didn't want to be caught standing there by anyone other than Paul. 

So, he thanked the gods (if there were any) when the curtains were drawn back and Paul was behind them, the boy shoving the dodgy window open with a grunt. He suddenly spotted John there, jumping back in fright before relaxing, recognising his boyfriend.

"Jesus, John! Scared the shit out of me." He giggled, climbing easily through the window and onto the overgrown grass in front of the older boy. "Nearly crapped me pants."

"I bet ye secretly did." John smirked amiably. 

"Only a little." Paul winked. John couldn't help but stare like a total idiot, cheeks pink and mouth parted ever so slightly as he did so - just seeing Paul's ebony hair, shaggy and luscious, reminding him faintly of a Labrador's pelt; lazy eyes sparkling with a newfound fondness, framed perfectly with his dark vaulted brows and gloomy eyelashes. Chapped lips stained rosy, pulled up in his usual adorable grin, causing flushed cheeks to puff up, bunny-like teeth flashing in the deep fading light. He was clad in a worn-out pair of overalls and a beige shirt underneath, both sleeves of the clothing rolled up to reveal hairy arms and legs, bare feet comfortable in the dewy cool grass. How the hell did I get a boyfriend this fucking hot? 

"Ghhu-yer really hhhhahahah-beautiful." The noises escaped from his lips before he could stop it, and he quickly ducked his head in embarrassment. Jesus christ, John, what was that?

"Thanks," Paul's expression softened and he gently lifted John's chin with a calloused finger, which was still slightly stained with dust and dirt from working out in the farm his family and the Asher's owned. "yer not too bad yerself, prince Lennon, yer highness."

"God, I hate that," John rolled his eyes with a scoff, leaning into Paul's tender touch as his hands travelled down to his chest and wrapped around his back comfortingly, resting his own on the younger's shoulders. "being called 'your highness'. It's just annoyin' an' makes me feel like a twat."

"Ye are a twat." Paul raised an eyebrow, smirk playing across his lips. John couldn't help but notice the smatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks were always prominent in the sunlight. "But a good one."

"Gee, thanks." He snorted. "Makes me feel great."

"Good! You should feel great." Paul patted his back with a playful laugh before - unfortunately - pulling away from his touch as he began walking away. Longing for the touch again, John's body instinctively move forward to follow the hands for a second before stopping, standing there for a few seconds in awe as he watched Paul go. Shit, it's gonna happen. It's happening. Oh god I'm gonna die jesus christ. This boy is driving me insane ohhh god- His eyes trained on his arse for a few seconds, but was cut off when he turned around.

"You comin' or are ye just gonna stand there and stare at me arse all day?" Paul crossed his arms over his chest with a chuckle.

"Uh-sorry-" John quickly trotted over to walk alongside him as they moved away from the house to the barbed, rickety fence, which created a barrier along the left side of the property and the thick, dark forest beyond that went on for a bit, stretching into the north. The fence stretched on for miles across the farm behind it; there was an area where it had been trampled over so many times by animals that it had sunken almost to the ground, making an easy spot to just hop over into the forest beyond. So, the two did - ambling along through the trees and wild grass, listening to the sound of birdsong and insects and other woodland creatures crawling amongst them.   
John was faintly reminded of when they last were here, when John finally came back from the trip to London, and Paul had been looking at a tiny little beetle on his finger. 

They weren't delaying what was about to happen, of course; but they were just savouring the moment, committing every sound, touch, taste, smell and sight to memory, not wanting anything on this special night to go amiss. Wanting it to be special for each other. 

It seemed there was an unspoken agreement it would occur in this forest - the place that held a lot of meaning within their relationship. The place in which they first confessed their feelings for one another, where they reunited after their first proper time apart....

"Beautiful. Always loved these woods." Paul remarked, letting a hand wander across the rough bark of a tree before letting it fall to his side. "Mother did too. She loved nature. Took us on nature walks, taught us about nature an' all its creatures. Ta care fer all of them no matter how small or insignificant lookin'." His voice was thick with emotion, and John could see it in his demeanour that this place held a lot of importance in his life. 

"That's so wonderful." John answered with a warm smile, coming up to stand beside his boyfriend, but not touching him yet. "Yer mother sounded.. lovely."

"She was. Yeah, she was." Paul agreed eventually, lifting his head to look at him with melancholic eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a nervous excitement once they reached the small clearing. The branches of the trees were far enough away to create a small circle-shaped gap up above them between the canopies, showing the deep puce-coloured sky - that was beginning to splatter with stars as it darkened. 

The ground was soft and springy, grass luscious and stained a purpley-silver as the nighttime settled in, a cool breeze caressing their bodies and causing the trees to flutter and rustle, almost sounding like distant, hushed whispers all around them. The taste of clean air and the previous beers John had in the afternoon clung to his mouth, and he subconsciously, albeit nervously, licked his lips in anticipation.

The tension was palpable between them, the weight of what was about to occur hanging in the night air like an invisible force, keeping them standing there for a few moments longer as the decision settled within them. Placing their absolute trust in one another, that this was a daunting task- but they were ready, and there to catch the other when they fell.

They stood in the clearing only a moment longer, before Paul slowly closed the space in between them, a dove-like hand reaching up to ever-so-gently cup his boyfriend's flaming cheek.

"Are you ready for this?" His voice was so quiet, it could have been mistaken for the rustle of the trees in the breeze around them; it sent an ardent shiver down his spine like a shockwave, breath hitching at the tender touch.

"Yes." John hoarsely voiced his approval, nodding fervently as he gazed into Paul's eyes. They were deep and brooding, turned a deep blue under the darkness, but lit up with a spark of fear mixed with excitement; so haunting, hypnotising, inviting; as if he was saying to him - you are safe. Loved. Inviting him into his soul, flecked in memories and past that built up the person whom he cared for so much, feeling like everything that occurred between them was built up and about to explode from the seams in this moment. 

And that was all that was needed. Slowly, as if the raven-haired boy was approaching a wary deer, he leaned forward, head tilting ever so slightly as his eyes trained on John's thin, parted lips; their hot breaths mixed in the spring night air, noses brushing against each other, lidded eyes fluttering shut before their awaiting lips connected. 

Paul's kisses were so incredibly addicting. His plump, bow-shaped lips fit so perfectly with his own, especially in this moment- it felt like they were hand-sculpted just to fit with the other's. It left John begging for more, and his clammy, apprehensive hands trailed up to card through Paul's familiar locks, the other coming to cup his lower hip. 

It didn't feel like they were just boyfriend's anymore. They were lovers, making love for the very first time with each other; it didn't feel like it usually did when they did anything sexual - they were always gripping desperately at skin, ripping clothes off, desperate lips attacking anywhere they could reach.   
This was slow, sweet and detailed; trying to savour every single second they had, taking all the time they had in the world, exploring each other's bodies, learning about every single nook and cranny, like they were open books for the other to read. It was making love.

"Make love to me," John breathed into Paul's mouth, timid eyes fluttering open to stare at him with a new vulnerability. He was truly opening up to Paul. Revealing himself to him, putting his absolute faith in him and letting the boy into his heart. Showing he was vulnerable was something he really struggled with; letting people in was hard, because he had lost so many. But he was letting himself be vulnerable, be truly himself around this person who he really cared about.

"I want to." Paul murmured, gaze clouding over with want and a passionate hunger, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, nimble fingers toying with John's coat as he slipped it from his shoulders to fall to the ground below.

"Please." 

Slowly, but surely, their clothes were shed and dropped to the grass around them, standing fully naked in each other's presence. John's body laid down with such a gentle tenderness that it made his body lurch in a delirious haze, fully prepared for what was about to ensue. But at seeing Paul's intense gaze on him from above, he recoiled slightly in embarrassment, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, even though usually he wasn't when they had sex.

"Love, hey.." Paul's husky voice and careful hand that came to caress his chest and glide along his stomach and thighs soothed him slightly, and he let himself look up into his lover's eyes. "You're beautiful." His warm and loving smile, so comforting and reassuring, was all he needed. 

Lifting his head, he reconnected their lips again, mouthing against each other languidly as their tongues swiped at each other, exploring their mouths and travelling along each other's teeth briefly. Paul broke the kiss as he pulled away, lips shining red with saliva before he leaned to press butterfly kisses across his face. First going from his forehead, to eyebrows, nose, cheeks, eyelids, lips, jaw, chin, to his neck; travelling further and further down across his body. His hands were so smooth and gentle, dragging across every single inch of his body as if he was seeing it all for the very first time. 

John felt so incredibly loved. What they were experiencing was so benevolent and passionate, nothing like either of them had experienced before. He felt exposed, but in a good way. Like he was holding out his heart in the palm of his hand, and Paul gently took it for himself, keeping it safe and protected.

Desire was beginning to arise in his abdomen, blood rushing to his exposed, half-hard dick when Paul's kisses trailed down his navel, kissing the pubic hairs that led to it. Hissing out a breath, he wiggled under the touch, desperate to feel Paul's hand around his abruptly hardening cock. 

"'s okay, I got ye, love.." Muttered his lover, noticing his frustration as he finally became eye level to it. A tentative hand caressed the tips of its fingers up the hard shaft before wrapping fully around it, giving it a tentative tug.

"Ah-" John groaned out, every single sense heightened to full ability, feeling every touch, breath, stroke Paul gave as the boy pumped his cock. "Fuck!" Bliss echoed throughout his stomach and he threw his head back, catching his lip harshly between his teeth, eyes screwed shut as a sweat began to break out on his forehead. 

But abruptly, the hand was replaced by a hot, wet mouth; bobbing up and down as he went down only a certain amount so as not to gag, expert tongue swirling and exploring the flesh with curiosity.

"Unh! Shit-" John lamented with a cry, clenching fists around the grass below that tickled his bare skin. The pleasure was sizzling so strongly in every nerve, he could barely hold it together; he had to have it now. "Paul," He moaned out. "Need you now,"

The boy pulled his mouth off his cock with a pop, looking down at him with a enraptured, desire-riddled expression, mouthing hanging open and eyes so droopy. It was a fucking delightful, erotic sight, and just seeing it caused John to buck his hips up with a whine. 

"Okay," Paul's voice shook with uncertainty, expression flickering with hesitance before rising to his knees; his hands traveled along John's stomach, to his hips and along his arse before gripping his thighs.

"Lift me thighs up onto yer waist. Makes it easer," John instructed breathlessly, squirming under his gaze and anxious to get Paul to hurry up a bit before he completely chickened out.

Paul did so obediently, John wrapping his legs securely around his lower back before he spoke again.

"Vaseline. In my coat- coat pocket-" John half-groaned, bucking his hips involuntarily due to his dick having been rutted against Paul's stomach, sparking his lust to throb even harder in his abdomen, tingling throughout his limbs.

Quickly fumbling for the jar, Paul took it out of the coat pocket, opening it up, dipping three trembling fingers into it, coating it with the oily substance before tossing the jar somewhere, not paying attention to anything else but John.

"Okay, you-" John huffed, angling his hips higher so Paul would have better access. "Start with one finger.. just in an' out..." 

After a millisecond of hesitation, his lover slowly spread John's arse cheeks apart, pressing the pad of his finger up against the hole. The feeling wasn't foreign, but it was cold and caused him to wriggle slightly, before nodding at Paul for permission. Tentatively, the finger was inserted inside.

Hissing through clenched teeth at the horribly uncomfortable stretching feeling, he let his head rest on the ground below, one hand coming and squeezing Paul's unoccupied one for comfort. 

"A-are you okay? D'ye want me to stop-" Paul stared at him in wonder and anxious worry, hoping he hadn't hurt him.

"No, keep goin'. 'm okay." He shook his head, opening his eyes to connect their gazes comfortingly.

So, Paul began to scissor in and out. Eventually he was used to the feeling and so he added another, then finally a third one to stretch it out enough. Once it was done, he pulled them out finally.

"Shit, that felt weird." John chuckled softly, lifting himself up to his elbows before Paul leaned down and connected their lips warmly.

"You okay Johnny?" He murmured against his lips, gazing up into his eyes.

"Yeah," John nodded fervently, pecking his lips one last time before falling back. "Go. 'm ready."

Palpable silence followed for a few seconds, both trembling and panting with anticipation with what was about to happen. Knowing the impact it will have on them. Paul dipped his fingers a second time into the Vaseline, before lubing up his achingly hard cock, bucking into his fingers slightly and letting out a lusty sigh. Once he was all done, he gripped onto both John's hips with a harshness he did not expect, nails digging into the pale flesh tightly as he prepared himself to slide inside.

"Now, damnit!" John cried out, writhing with anticipation and desire bubbling in his core, desperate for contact as he threw his head back.

Suddenly he was penetrated. Slowly, ever so carefully, a panting Paul inserted his cock further and further inside until he was fully sheathed, gripping so tightly at his hips that his knuckles were white, probably bruising it. Pain shot up Johns spine and he whined slightly, eyes shut tight and biting his lip to will it away, waiting for it to settle down.

"Y-you okay? I can pull out-" Paul fumbled anxiously for words.

"N-no. 'm- 'm okay. Stay still." John grunted out, eyes slowly opening up to gaze at what was above him.

Paul was there on his knees, lidded eyes wide open now, an infantile wonder flickering through his expression. Like he had discovered the meaning of life, kneeling there completely sheathed inside of his lovers arse and head tilted back to look at the expanse of constellations above them, reflecting the stars within his eyes. Naked body stained a silver from the moon suspended above them, shining with sweat. Truly breathtaking. 

"Holy fuckin' shit...." He breathed with a half-chuckle, half-moan. "feels so.. fucking incredible. I've- ah- never experienced somethin'.. like this before-" he grunted, struggling not to thrust inside him and keep still. "So incredible, Johnny."

"Macca.." John groaned out, adjusting his position one last time before his hands came up to guide Paul's body down so he was hovering above him, hands planted firmly beside the prince's head. "move." He expressed his permission.

And with that, Paul slowly began to pull out. He was slow at first, eyes fixated on John's expression, watching for his reactions as he pulled out almost all the way, staying there for a second before pushing back in.

The uncomfortableness was still lingering, and John just wrapped his arms around Paul's shoulders, trying to will away the feeling and wait for the familiar pleasure when his lover would hit his prostate.

"God! Ugh, fuck-" Paul looked like he was in ecstasy, delirious with pleasure as he began to thrust faster and faster, harder each time as he bent over his lover, eyebrows knotted and eyes half lidded, clouded over with an insatiable hunger at the new feeling he was experiencing. Sweat dripped down his bare chest and back, muscles flexing and contracting with the effort, cherry red bottom lip caught between teeth, drool escaping ever so slightly as he was slowly unravelled in John's arms. "AH! Ah, haa-"

Seeing such an erotic expression on his face and hearing his fervid moans turned him on so intensely, John rutting up against the thrusting with a grunt. 

Then he hit it.

"GAH! Unh, god- hh-hit it again! Ah-" John yelled out, the shockwaves of intense pleasure so strong he basically saw stars, vision blurring badly and everything else falling away. All he could see, could hear, think, smell, taste, touch- was Paul. Paul, Paul Paul Paul Paul- 

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck- Johnny! Uh-" Paul babbled incomprehensibly, thrusting with an animalistic speed, reaching to dig his nails into John's sides again as he buried his head into John's chest, panting and groaning at every insanely pleasurable thrust he did against it.

"Harder! Shit.. Macca! Ggaaah-" John couldn't even control himself anymore, clawing so harshly in ravenous compulsion, trying to pull his lover as close as humanly possible- uniting as one as they went. 

"It's you, Johnny, unh- fuck, it's always you-" Paul heaved breaths, gripping onto John's achingly hard, pre-cum covered cock, pumping the shaft rapidly. They knew they wouldn't last much longer. 

"Paul! Ah- haaa- uh-" John cried out, bucking up his hips in time with Paul's thrusts, the insatiable desire and pleasure so strong, he felt himself growing closer and closer to the edge, building up inside his core and ready to explode. "'m so fuckin' close! Gah-" 

"M-mmm-me too!" Paul moaned into John's neck, ramming into him so hard and fast that it was too much for him. 

With a yelling cry that echoed throughout the forest he came, the viscous liquid bursting from his cock and cascading across their stomachs and up onto Paul's chest, coating them in the sticky substance. A second later, Paul bit into John's shoulder terribly hard, muffling his moans into the skin as he came, filling John's arse with the stuff, which spurted out and spilled onto the grass below, dripping and coating his arse completely. 

"Haaah... hahhh.. shit fuck.." Paul panted into his lover's sweaty chest, the two of them slowly coming out from their highs, bodies twitching slightly- especially John's, the boy lying there with eyes shut and arse muscles spasming from overstimulation. 

"Holy. Fuck.." John breathed out in exhilaration, vision slowly clearing as he opened his eyes, everything coming back to normal as he caught his breath.

"We 'ave ta do tha' again soon." 

"Quite right."

"Y'know... shit, that makes us full blown queers, doesn't it?" Paul lifted his head with wide eyes, but not without a hint of amusement.   
He was a delightful sight; ruffled hair matted with sweat and sticking in every direction, eyes still cloudy and unfocused, shining with awe and amazement - sweat dripping down his face, neck - which had deep red marks from John's mouth that would definitely bruise later - chest. Stomach and chest covered in cum, lips sore and deep red from kissing and shining with saliva. Something that he could never truly get used to, always staring in absolute amazement.

"I was always a full blown queer, love. Guess ye've joined the club now, eh?" John chuckled with a lazy grin.

"Guess I have. Jesus, 6 months ago I could never have imagined doin' anythin' like this at all." Paul laughed incredulously, slowly pulling out of his arse and sitting up, fumbling around for something to clean the cum off before it dried with.

"In me coat pocket. Don't worry, I came prepared." John winked. 

Paul pulled it out and cleaned themselves up, before they cuddled up together on the grass, entangling their limbs in their post-coitus bliss.

"I can officially say then, that I turned ye queer."

"I-" Paul froze, staring up at him before his cheeks grew even more flushed than they were. "yeah, actually." 

"Hey, uhm-" John trailed off, gazing at Paul with a warm expression, reaching up a hand to caress his cheek. "That was. Lovely. And.. 'm glad I did with ye, Macca. I regret nothin', except fer the fact it wasn't me first time." John trailed off, expression souring at the memories with a melancholy gaze. 

"Aye, 's okay, Johnny-" Paul kissed him briefly, pulling away with a half-smile. "Let's say, it was yer first time doin' it with someone ye love."

With tired limbs, the two dressed and went back to John's, collapsing beneath the sheets, sheltered away from the rest of the world as Paul fell asleep in John's arms, completely content. But the prince's eyes were wide open, having realised something.

I'm in love with Paul McCartney. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi holy shittt that was a   
fukin trip and a half eh??  
pretty fun to write imo,  
i am proud of how my smut  
is improving (: anyways   
OH SHITT JOHNS IN LOVE  
OOOOHHEJIDJRHR  
👀👀👀well well well  
anyways hope yall enjoyed  
this chapter!! i love u all  
ty for continuing to support  
and everything <333 byeee


	37. thirty six.

may 1859

Sweet mid-morning light reflected on the perfectly waxed floors of the manor, richened by the spring sun. Flower-patterned wallpaper warmed by flaming patches streaming through the tall glazed windows, luxury curtains pulled back to let in the welcoming rays. The light warmed John's expensive clothes, the rays being particularly attracted to the deep, dark, blue colours, causing his neck to begin to turn red, heat spreading throughout his body and causing him to tug at the uncomfortably tight collar of his shirt.   
It certainly wasn't good clothes to wear in this type of weather; the prince being done up in a tie, vest, tailcoat, the works. But it wasn't like he could object - high-end company was about them, and you have to make the best impression. According to Mimi. 

"Steamed duck breast, seasoned with rosemary and oregano, side dish-" John flipped over one of the many sleek paper display menus he was reading. "baked potatoes soaked in butter and garlic, with fresh green beans and cherry tomatoes." The thought of such delicious food stirred his hunger a bit, but his boredom at the menial task he had to perform overpowered it. 

"Would that be a good meal for the main in dinner?" Cynthia spoke from her seat in the sitting room next to her, twisting a lock champagne-coloured hair between her fingers anxiously. "Of course, we will have multiple types of meat and side dishes for dinner..." her hands reached up subconsciously to read through the menus, but she quickly stopped herself, fixing her gaze on her lap. John felt a pang of sympathy in his chest and glanced around to see if anyone else was watching; thankful when he realised no one was watching them.

"Here. Read them," he pushed the menus across the stark white tablecloth towards her with a small smile. Women, of course, weren't supposed to know how to read; John honestly didn't understand that trope at all, and neither did Cynthia, since she taught herself to, with the help of an aunt.

As his fiance flipped through the papers, he turned his gaze back on the people milling about. Wedding organisers, professional chefs, decorators, the like; all darting back and forth, being instructed to do something or other by Mimi, looking awfully like a tall white and red Christmas tree with her red and white, puffy silk dress, hair excessively done up and curled into a bee's nest style that it looked bigger than her own head. John knew she was wearing special platform heels, under the overhanging dress that covered it up, to make herself look taller. Her face was dressed in her usual stern look, all piercing eyes and a tight-lipped mouth. Her grim tone of voice echoed throughout the large sitting room, which had high ceilings covered in Renaissance paintings.

"Well? Have you decided on the meals yet?" Mimi's interrogating voice cut into his thoughts, and he glanced forward in shock from where he was staring up at the ceiling. He didn't notice she had come over; Cynthia had, though, and she had hastily pushed the papers back to him and busied herself with a nick in her sleeve so she wouldn't be caught reading, looking thoroughly embarrassed. 

"Oh, uhm-" John cut himself off, quickly shuffling through them, picking a few at random that he thought were decent enough. "The duck one, the mutton, and the beef.. for the main meals." He faked a smile towards Mimi, pushing them over towards her, happy enough with his decision.

"Wouldn't it be better to have the roast chicken instead of beef?" She placed her hands on her hips, glaring down at him for a moment, before changing her mind suddenly. "Actually, never mind. Too much bird to have duck and chicken. Right, please go discuss it with the chefs; I have to discuss table organisation with the planners." She stalked off.

John watched her go for a few seconds, perplexed, but his hand was gently tugged on as Cynthia rose to her feet, the two walking off to find the chefs to tell them their choice. Moving from his spot in the chair caused him to hiss through clenched teeth, pain shooting up his spine from his arse, pressing a hand to his lower back. 

"Oh- you alright, John?" Cynthia heard the noise and turned to look at him, concern flashing in her eyes at seeing her friend in pain. 

"Yeah, uhm- yeah," He let out a breath, the pain ebbing away after a few seconds of standing still. He gave her a nervous smile, memories dancing before his eyes and causing a faint, but fleeting, stir in his abdomen. It was only last night, of course - when him and Paul did the... deed. It was an incredible experience, and he wouldn't take it back for the world, but - his sore arse was something he could do without. I was fucked up the arse by my boyfriend last night and now my arse hurts like all hell. 

"Sorry, slept a bit funny last night." Was what he decided to say, sparing the scarring details from his pure-hearted fiance.

"Alright. Just tell me if you need to take a rest, alright? I'll make up some sort of excuse for you." She smiled warmly at him, letting her hand rest on his shoulder before she turned to make her way out of the sitting room. In that moment, he was truly thankful that Cynthia was the lovely, considerate person she was.

His thoughts grew darker, though, as he followed after her (albeit limping). The upcoming wedding still nagged at the back of his mind, coming to the forefront at the present moment due to them planning it out currently - wondering whether it was all even worth it. He didn't even love Cynthia, at least ; not in the way he was meant to. What was the point? There was almost nothing for him left in this part of his life. Friends who didn't give a toss about him, Mimi not understanding or accepting what he truly loved or wished for, heartless, sheltered associates who believed everyone except themselves were vermin; the only thing that kept him there was Paul, George and Ringo. Cynthia too, but less so. The people who ever truly understood him and his hopes.

His mind went to the dream he had the night before, sleeping peacefully wrapped up in Paul's embrace;

Cobblestone streets stretching out before him, the orange flaming sun sinking below the clusters of dark-bricked buildings, turning the sky shades of purple and blue as the first stars of the night began to emerge, reflecting against the water of the river Thames that swelled out along John's right, twisting and swerving among the streets of London.

Paul, looking much more grown up - his lips pulled in an affectionate smile accompanied by a dark moustache, eyes sparkling, reflecting the setting sun before them, shaggy dark hair framing his sun-kissed face. The jubilant, playful voices of George and Ringo echoing in the background, the strong smell of water and fish and chips filling his nostrils. 

"I'm here, John," Paul's voice was soothing like honey, wafting from his enticing mouth and infecting his mind with its warmth. "We're here." His gaze had travelled amongst the streets and the view in front of them, to George and Ringo's faces, their comforting gazes trained on him - their figures slightly blurry - as if he was hinting to something. "Waiting."

He could only remember those parts, so strongly imprinted in his mind. He had woken up with wide eyes and a racing heart, the implication of what his subconscious was telling him nagging at him intensely, slowly connecting the dots as the revelation formed in his head. His hands had searched for Paul's comfort next to him, but found nothing - the boy had left early that morning to avoid being caught, leaving only warmth behind and taking John's heart with him. 

Maybe they could find a proper place to be together somewhere else. Where they weren't restricted by their duties, their extremely differing social backgrounds that made it near impossible to be together without excessive disguises and a lot of sneaking around. Even if John wasn't a prince and lived like Paul, their relationship was still very much illegal and hard to work with; but at least they didn't have their social statuses to hold them back. In London they still would have to hide their relationship but at least they could really be together, and not be forced into relationships or destinies they didn't want to follow. George and Ringo could come too, and the four friends could all have great times together in their young adulthood; he wondered if he was able to convince them to leave their lives and come with them to London, though. It was asking for a lot. They wouldn't really be able to tell people where they were going, especially John - he expected Paul's family wouldn't be happy with him running away to be with his lover much either. But John was willing to risk it - there was nothing left for the prince. They would have to leave in secret, create new identities almost (mainly John) if they ended up going through with it. 

The realisation John came to as well about his new feelings for Paul shook him to his core. He was in love with him (!!!!!!! the thought sent an overwhelming shiver up his spine and caused his heart to race), he really understood it now. It was a daunting and scary thought, but his courage was strengthened when he thought of Paul and how much of an amazing person he was. He didn't even know if Paul felt just as strongly for him - what if he didn't? What if Paul just liked him, but didn't love him back? He had no idea how he would cope with that. Loving someone who didn't love them back... he knew how it felt. Not truly loving someone this much, but being totally infatuated with Stuart, and the boy leaving him for Astrid. It was so crushing and really took a toll on him - but even then he didn't love Stuart. 

With Paul; there was much more at stake. Cold, unshakable fear seeped into his bones, plaguing his mind when he imagined confessing his love to him.  
The terrible, dreaded look of pity on Paul's face, doe eyes droopy with sadness as he smiled, but it was tight-lipped and forced. 

"Sorry, John.... I really am. I don't love you." 

"John? Stop drifting off. Please pay attention." Mimi stopped him from letting his mind wander any further down that path, shaking away his troubles with Paul as he faced the ones that were directly in front of him. Her expression didn't change at all at seeing John's face pulled taut, eyes troubled and reflecting his fear, but her eyes gave it away, alight with concern. "What's wrong? You need to get out of your head, John."

"'s nothing," he spoke a bit too quickly, raising his head and trying to relax, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind to deal with later. He saw Cynthia was speaking with the hired chefs in the kitchen, their own personal chefs showing them around the kitchen and how it worked. He felt bad for leaving her alone, but she didn't seem to want to rouse her from his thinking, just leaving him there to talk to them herself. "Sorry. I'll go help."

He could feel Mimi's intense gaze boring into her back as he turned away from her.

"John. I need to speak with you a moment." She spoke up, making him freeze in spot before turning around again, gulping silently. This can't be good... he thought to himself with an inward sigh. 

"Of course." 

The queen led him out of the kitchen, out into the hallways into the front lobby, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot before turning back to him, looking stern as ever.

"I've noticed you have been slipping away again. Disappearing at random hours. Mainly, the maids and waiters have; they reported your behaviour to me." She held her hands behind her back, and John couldn't help but let his eyebrows furrow, annoyance flickering through him at not being entirely too careful. "And they have seen George leaving them at times with poor excuses and sometimes seen going into your room, or you two conversing in the hallway."

"Mimi, I-"

"Silence. Remember what I have told you. You cannot speak to those... people... anymore." She poke the word 'people' with such a sourness that John recoiled ever so slightly. "Just because the press and people have moved on from their investigation of you does not give you grant to continue doing it." She glared at him.

"They are distracting you from your duties. This is your wedding, John. You have to be more involved. A lot of events have been planned for the rest of this month and next, and you are expected to attend every single one." She stated down at him. John noticed that the woman seemed to resent John's choice in friends even more than she usually did, since it was distracting him from his responsibilities and caused him to be always off in his head, distracted. 

"For the next month, I am confining you to the manor. We will have maids and the guards keep watch for you, you are not allowed to leave the premises until you've proven that I can trust you to fulfill your duties as future king."

"What? N-" John started in indignation. How could she do that? He wasn't a child anymore, she couldn't control whether he could leave the manor or not. 

"Silence!" Her eyes blazed. "Our staff will be on extra watch for any of your little friends that might try and visit. I told you consequences would arise if you didn't do what I asked of you. You are not to interact with that George, Ringo, or the other one I saw you frolicking about with a while ago ever again. And that is final."

John knew there wasn't any point in arguing with the woman, seeing that she had come to the final decision and there was nothing he could do to persuade it into his favour. 

"It's for your own good, John. You of all people should know that." Mimi's expression softened in the slightest, and she let her hands unfold from behind her back. 

With a heavy heart and a troubled conscience, he dipped his head in defeat before limping away. 

✧✧✧✧✧

"Eggs comin' up!" Paul's cheery voice cut through the bustling noise of the McCartney/Asher home; the sound of sizzling oil, crinkling paper as Jim adjusted the newspaper he was reading in his hands, Mike rapping fingers against the bench as he waited excitedly for his lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Asher's footsteps sending dust from the wooden roof above as they milled about, Jane coming down the stairs and out to the backyard, collecting some half-ripe tomatoes that were going to be left in the sun to fully ripe before being sold filling their ears. The strong smell of cooking eggs causing all their mouths to water, the smell of cheaply brewed tea and roasting bread accompanying it. 

"Gear! Haven't had eggs in a while, 'ave we?" Mike rested his elbows on the stone, turning to look at Jim, who continuously sipped at his tea as he read the paper.

"The chickens 'ave struggled lately. We've had ta sell every egg they've laid an' there's been a bout o' sickness with some of them." Jim commented languidly, the prospect of dying chickens and low supply of eggs not foreign to them; in fact, something that occurred so often they were used to it. "Not ta mention foxes." 

"They got to Roger, the bastards!" Paul's eyes darkened with sorrow for a moment, thinking of one of his favourite cream-coloured hen, and seeing its mangled body lying just outside the fence, being torn apart by foxes, the other chickens squawking loudly with alarm. "They're so hard to get rid of. They keep diggin' under the fence."

"We have ta extend the fences underground a bit more. Do another chilli pepper deterrent." Jim dropped the paper to the table below, turning to lock eyes with his eldest as he sipped at the last of his tea.

"Chilli is really 'ard ta get a hold of..." Paul sighed, using the battered spatula to slide the pieces of cooked toast onto Mike's empty plate, eggs afterwards. 

"It's somethin' we'll just have ta sacrifice, 'm afraid. Can't 'ave any more chickens die when they're already susceptible due to the sickness." Jim shrugged with a raise of an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

"Yeah," Paul agreed, thinking to himself as he filled up a glass of water from their water pail for his brother. "Here's yer lunch, Mikey." He smiled at him.

"Thanks, brother. Really know how ta work those eggs!" Mike chuckled as he bit them, gulping it down hungrily within seconds. They had been a bit hungry lately, money going into supplies for the farm and causing them to skip more meals than usual, not having enough money to supply themselves.

Paul's stomach growled with an ache as he watched his brother eat. He decided Mike had been looking quite thin as of late and he decided to skip lunch for the 3rd time, having missed out on breakfast as well that morning. He desperately wanted a bite for himself, but he knew Mike needed it more; he would eat later at dinner. They didn't have anything except scraps of bread, and an unopened can beans Paul found out while he was scavenging in the streets.

That was something Paul didn't like doing very much.   
Scavenge. When things got really desperate, Paul and Mike were forced to pose as urchins, to try and leech off some poor sucker who pitied them into giving them some shillings or maybe a lick of food. They preferred to steal than to beg, and they had learnt from experience and skill how to run away from angry stall owners and potentially dangerous people, and nothing too drastic had ever happened them when they stole. 

He remembered the last time, a few years ago, when it got so bad they were forced to steal and pickpocket. 

The pure fiery hatred in a stall owner's eyes when he caught them stealing some bread. 

"Fuckin' leechin' thief cunts!" 

His harsh words echoed in his head, remembering the thundering footsteps going after them as they bolted from the scene, cutting yells being shot after him as they weaved and darted through the crowds of people. 

It left a strong impact on him, and he only ever turned to thieving when it was absolutely necessary.

"Enjoyed it, did we?" Jim smiled warmly at his younger son. Paul shook himself of the memories, turning to look at his father. He could see the lack of food was beginning to weigh down on him too, his face more gaunt and sunken than usually, his tattered clothes hanging limply over his thin limbs. His eyes were ringed with dark bags, eyes dark with exhaustion. He was working himself dry to support the family, always on his feet and exerting himself to make sure their was food in their bellies and clothes on their backs. Looking at him now, he vowed to try and appreciate all the things Jim did for them more, how dedicated and persistent he was.

"I'll cook dinner tonight, da'." Paul smiled warmly at his father. 

"Oh, thank ye, Paulie. That would be lovely." He sighed in relief, smiling at his son and patting his arm before getting up. "Oh, and..." he turned to look at Paul, but he trailed off when he saw Jane coming in from the back door, carrying a basket full of tomatoes. She looked at them, cheeks going red before hurrying up the stairs. Jim smiled knowingly down at Paul, seeing his son looking at her. "Speakin' of Jane."

"Yeah?" Paul looked up at him in genuine confusion. "What about 'er?" 

"Remember the discussion I had with 'er father?" He raised a brow.

"Oh, god-" Paul let out a groan in realisation. This again? He really didn't want to have to marry Jane.

"Now, now. We really think it would be best fer the family fer ye both ta consider marriage. Ye two can have children an' keep the family business alive. Its been passed on fer generations now, it's yer duty to continue it. Ye two have a good connection, ye both get along." He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

"Wh-what? Da'!" Paul's cheeks flamed in horror and embarrassment, hearing Mike's snickering from the bench as he watched the scene. "No way! 'm not marryin' 'er! I don't wanna marry someone I don't love like tha'." 

"Nonsense! Ye have to pass on the McCartney blood, an' unless ye have found yerself a bird as pretty and intelligent as Ms Asher, she would be perfect fer ya!" 

"D- I-" Paul spluttered in horror. "No! N- Why-" He huffed, turning his back on him to stomp away, slamming the kitchen door after him, anger and exasperation hot in his veins. He didn't want to marry Jane! He didn't like her. They had already talked about it. But Jim and Mr. Asher seemed hellbent on getting them together!

"What 'appened? I heard commotion." Jane's voice sounded from the staircase, and he glanced up, his anger ebbing away, but his annoyance still lingered.

"Just me da' tellin' me how I should marry ye." Paul crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the cold floor as he let out an irritated sigh.

"Yeah. 'm sorry. Me father's been very insistent on it too." She scaled the last few steps, moving to stand in front of Paul, looking equally annoyed herself. "I don't seem ta have a choice in anythin' I do anymore, anyway." 

"Sorry about that." Paul's brows furrowed at her. 

"'s okay. Not yer fault." She tucked a bright orange lock of hair behind her ear, adjusting her dusty apron. "Just.. nothin' I can really do about it right now. Hopefully they won't force it on us anytime soon."

"I hope so too." Paul rubbed the back of his neck. 

"Y'know..." Jane began, looking up at him shyly. "It was really nice to talk to yer friend's friend Cynthia."

"Oh? Was it?" Paul raised a knowing eyebrow with a mischievous smirk.

"Come off it." She pushed his shoulder with deep red cheeks. "Yes. It was. I-" She paused, looking nervous. "Never really felt like this... about a woman."

"Haven't you?" He felt a pang of sympathy for her, remembering how confused and terrified he felt when he began falling for John. The first time he ever felt romantic feelings for a man. 

"No. It's.... scary. I don't understand it." She licked her lips, her fear flickering through her eyes as she looked up at him.

"Hey.. 's okay to feel scared, y'know." He reached to rest a hand on her shoulder. "I felt the same, when..."

"When what?" She looked curious but guarded now.

"Okay, well... me and John. Y'know.." He trailed off, looking down at the ground.

"Really? I had a sneakin' suspicion." She half-smiled.

"Heh, yeah," he chuckled. "But I know how ye feel. It's scary, new, sometimes even excitin'. I promise it'll get better. Ye'll learn to accept yer feelin's and come to terms with it. If.." He looked for the right words. "if ye need anyone ta talk to or ask fer advice about it, know tha' I'm here. If ye need."

"Thanks, Paul. That means a lot." She smiled warmly at him. They were on tense terms the last time they talked alone, and Paul was glad it was cleared up and they could actually become friends. 

"No problem." 

"I.. want ta see 'er again. Cynthia." Jane spoke hesitantly. 

"She definitely seemed interested in ye too." Paul gave a wink, Jane shying away with flushed cheeks in turn. "I'll see if I can get ye guys ta hang out again."

"Thanks, Paul. 'm glad we can be friends." She smiled up at him with a new warmth and affection, a friendly one this time. 

"Me too." He returned it just as much. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoyoyo gamers lol , sorry little delay but here u go! more wedding plan s and jon being thinky hdjdj and just some simple mccartney family n jane ((: honestly i have no like idea of fancy meals that rich ppl eat so i jut made shit up on the spot JDJDJJS sounds tasty tho. anyways hope u guys enjoy this chap kts late and i must sleep gn!!! ily all so much bye💕💕


	38. thirty seven.

may 1859 

"Come'ead John! It'll be fine, honestly!"

"But I've never gone horse ridin'! There's stables back at the manor, but I was never allowed ta go near them.." John stared up at the majestic creature in apprehension, with a long grey mane and a swishing tail as it stared right back at the prince, large eyes blinking in the hopes for a treat. 

"Ginny is fine. She's friendly towards me mates," Paul reassured with a hand around John's shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek with a twinkling smile as he reached to stroke the horse's neck, along the grey fur that was patterned with spots. "See here, Gin? This is John. He's a good guy. Dashingly handsome." That caused his lover to chuckle, eyes flashing with amusement.

The horse craned her head forward and nosed his hair with her snout, letting out a huff as she sniffed him, causing him to freeze in his spot, staring at the horse in a mixture of awe and anxiety, slowly reaching to pat her head as he got more comfortable with the animal. She was all dressed up in the equipment necessary for horse riding; bridle strapped to her head and saddle on her back, with reins alongside it. 

Paul had been wanting to teach John how to ride a horse for a while, and finally he had convinced the uneasy boy to join him, promising he would do most of the work and he could just hold onto him and enjoy the ride. The spring sun was particularly hot that day, the ardent rays beating down on the nape of their necks, the long grass below dry and devoid of the usual greenery it usually possessed. Not as hot, of course, as it would be when summer rolled around; but still quite warm nonetheless. The endless fields stretched out before the two, standing in the vast paddocks where the horses would graze and walk around, before they would be ushered back into the stables in the night. John could see some paddocks to their right were filled with rows of growing corn and wheat, which would be ready to be harvested in September - those fell away to the rest of the garden, filled with various crops and plants, that stretched out to the immediate area at the back of the McCartney/Asher house. To their left were the stables a way off, and the tall wooden shed where they would keep specific ingredients to make up the feed for the animals. Next to that shed was the barn, filled with hay and straw and where the workhorses were kept; off in that direction was where the chicken coop and the pens for the pigs and sheep were situated.

"Okay, 'm ready. I think," John finally spoke, turning to Paul before tugging curiously on the riding waistcoat he was wearing. The two of them were wearing riding uniforms - tall, scuffed boots that ended at the knee, riding gloves, caps, and dark trousers that were tucked into the boots. The material was rough and discoloured, with the occasional stain, and slightly uncomfortable on John's pale skin; he was used to the smooth, silky, high-quality clothing he wore on a daily basis, even if it was suffocating in winter and sometimes too tight for his liking. Wearing this clothing reminded him faintly of the night when he went to the forest that surrounded the right of the house and bordered the farm, not even having realised he was doing it; Paul had found him absolutely drenched as it was storming, and lent him his clothes to wear while his own dried. And - he could see for the first time - the boy's attitude towards him had vastly transformed. He could still see the younger boy's face imprinted in his vision... illuminated in the light of the candles, face splashed orange and pretty doe eyes shining with a new light and warmth towards him.   
He wouldn't forget that sight anytime soon.

"Gear! Okay, I'll help ye up." Paul grinned at him, bunny-like teeth flashing in the afternoon light before he held out cupped palms, ready to boost John up onto the back of the horse. John stared for a moment, teeth catching his bottom lip in apprehension before he stepped forward. He placed a foot tentatively on Paul's hands, but the boy held his position strongly, not reacting as John lifted his entire weight onto it, momentarily wobbling before he gripped onto the horse, lifting a leg over the saddle and settling into place. 

"Oh god, we're gonna die, aren't we?" John muttered, clutching onto the edges of the saddle in terror as he stared at the ground below.

Paul stood up from his kneeling position, gaze sparking with amusement as he let a fond smile play on his lips.

"C'mon! You'll be fine. Ye got me to protect ya!"   
With that, he swiftly hopped onto the horse's back in front of John, being an expert at the whole ordeal as he gathered the reins in his palms. Ginny huffed through her nostrils again, hooves stamping against the ground for a second before calming, awaiting her owner's orders.

"'sides, try not to show yer fear. Horses can sense it an' it will make Gin uneasy too." Paul quipped, patting the horse's neck comfortingly with a few soothing words sent her way.

"Right. Yeah. Not scared." John shook his head, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Now-" Paul spoke again, sliding his feet into the footrests attached to the saddle, turning his body halfway to look at John. "just hold on ta me. 'm gonna give her a little encouragin', an' she'll start off slow before we'll be runnin'." His demeanour was relaxed and at ease, but his eyes gave away concern embedded in the irises as he gazed at his lover. "Ye'll be okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, 'm not scared. I'll be fine." John puffed out his chest with a smirk, trying to hide his fear with his usual mask of toughness, but of course - Paul saw right through it. He just chuckled, pressing a kiss to his lips briefly before turning back around.

"If ye say so. Let's go!" Without waiting for a reaction, Paul gently whacked Ginny's shoulder with a rein and nudged her side with his foot. "Giddy up, Gin!"

"Woah, woah, waIT-" John called out, eyes wide, but it was too late.

The horse sped off, picking up pace until they were speeding through the endless fields, hooves beating against the dry dirt and wind roaring past them, whipping their clothes against their bodies and causing their caps to nearly fly off. John immediately flung his arms around Paul's waist, clutching on for dear life as he buried his head in his shoulder, not having been ready for any of it. 

"Shit! I wasn't ready!" His voice was carried off by the wind, but Paul still heard him, his raucous laughter whirling past him as they rode through the paddocks. 

"Said ye weren't scared!" He teased, holding onto the reins as he sat straight-backed. The bumpiness of the ride seemingly didn't affect him whatsoever, gaze set on the ground ahead of them that gently sloped up to a wide hill, the long grass making way to its springy and light counterpart, due to it being the moorland. 

"'m not! Shut up!" John called out, lifting his head. He stared out in front of them for a few seconds as they scaled the hillside, growing ever closer to the top; the wind caressed his pale, smooth skin, gliding past his face as they went - he eventually sat up straight, growing more comfortable with their surroundings and the feeling of Ginny sprinting along below them. 

As they neared the top of the hill, Paul called out to the horse for her to slow down, pulling the reins back firmly before she halted in her footing, slowing until she stood still on the top of the hill. The sound of the distant trees whistling in the wind filled John's ears, and Paul's ever-so-slightly laboured breathing, and the swish of Ginny's tail as she stared out ahead, barely out of breath from the short sprint, powerful muscles flexing under her pelt. 

John couldn't help but let an awe-filled "wow" escape his lips as he stared out at the landscape ahead of them. The hill stretched on for a few metres ahead of them, before slowly dropping away to more fields, dotted with the occasional tree standing alone within them; thick clusters of trees were kept around the edges of the dirt pathways that zigzagged through the paddocks, granting farmers easy access to their farms. In the distance, the prince could see sheep dotting some of the paddocks below, looking like smears of cloud against the creamy green grass - along with horses that galloped along, skirting past a cluster of rocks that were embedded in a hillside far off. The sun bathed everything in a warm, rich colour, only occasional wisps of cloud being spread out in the blue sky. 

It was wildly different to the usual landscapes he was used to seeing - which were dark, moody cities or shiny, expensive rooms, buildings that were blurs of greys and blacks in his vision - and it was a refreshing change. Instead of the tang of concrete and smoke from factories filling his mouth, it was clear air mixed with an earthy, dirt-like smell that farms usually possessed. Sometimes the not-so-pleasant smell of fertiliser or unclean animals would accompany it, but it was easy to avoid. 

"Like it, huh?" Paul's honey-laced voice pulled John from his reverie, and he turned to see he had leaned forward subconsciously while thinking, and his chin rested on Paul's shoulder. His ebony locks tickled John's cheek momentarily before he moved away, not without pressing an affectionate kiss to the shell of his lover's ear.

"It's so... different. But lovely. Refreshing." His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. The memories of yesterday, when he came home to Mimi angry with him once again, filling his mind. 

Her eyes blazed. "You are not to interact with that George, Ringo, or the other one I saw you frolicking about with a while ago ever again. And that is final." 

He would have to tell Paul eventually. He had snuck away earlier that day, beneath the midday sun, to have one last moment of freedom before he would be shut up in the manor for god knows how long, his every movement being watched to ensure he wouldn't run off again. Preparations for the wedding were speeding up, and he knew he would have to have a ball to celebrate the engagement too. But, this time - there was absolutely no way Paul could attend. George would have his duties as a waiter to deal with, so he wouldn't be attending as a guest, and therefore not able to bring a plus one. Ringo probably wouldn't be able to come; from what Mimi said the night before, it was probable that the woman would forbid his attending. So he would be alone. None of his friends would be there - he wouldn't be able to speak to George, since he would be caught up in his duties, and of course, John shouldn't be speaking to someone as low class as him, a mere worker and employee - unless he was ordering him to do something. It truly sucked. 

The feel of Ginny kicking off again pulled him from his troubled thoughts again as she galloped off, speeding down the hillside into the warm fields below. He tried to shake it all off, keep an optimistic mind for now. He was with his beloved now, he should enjoy it as much as he could before it was over for a while, uncertain as to when they could see each other again. 

"It's odd to think that farmers own so much land, almost as much as us - but still be much less wealthy than us." John spoke up with a half-chuckle, gazing at the sheep that they sped past, the creatures gazing curiously at them from where they grazed languidly.

"It really is. Goes to show," Paul paused, leaning closer against the horses' neck to keep balance, John keeping himself low as well as they rode. "the amount of land ye own doesn't really show how wealthy ye are."

"Yeah." John agreed softly. He definitely enjoyed this much better than his own home; though, he had to say he loved the manor's gardens, which were lush and rich, filled with all sorts of trees and plants which stretched on for miles and miles. I'll take Paul to them one day, he vowed to himself. Maybe when all this chaos is over.

The two rode on for a few minutes more, gliding through the paddocks in a comfortable silence. John had rested his head against Paul's back, arms wrapped around his stomach comfortably as Paul led the way, controlling his horse with ease and with a practiced hand. Eventually, Ginny began to grow tired, her chest heaving with each breath she took in, and Paul decided they should take a break and let them all rest - Paul was looking a bit out of breath, too, a healthy flush on his cheeks and his shoulders rising and falling with quickened breath. John felt exercised too, the effort of trying to keep balance and not fall off being actually harder than he thought it would be. 

They both hopped off, John struggling a bit and ending up tripping into Paul's arms, both giggling at his expense before they let Ginny go, the horse trotting off to a particularly inviting patch of grass to graze at while they walked off, seeing a tree a few metres away they could rest under. 

Paul collapsed with a dramatic sigh under the shady branches, resting his back against the trunk of the tree before pulling off his long riding boots, discarding them to the side as John sat down beside him. He pulled off his own shoes, taking off the gloves and cap too before he laid down, head resting on his lover's chest. Paul followed suite with his own gloves and cap.

"That was fun, innit?" Paul grinned breathlessly, reaching to run a hand through his windswept hair and wipe the sweat off his brow. John stared up at him with a languid smile, eyes half-lidded and sparkling with affection as he draped his arm over the younger's waist.

"Scary. But actually-" John paused, reaching to rest his other hand on Paul's collarbone, drawing lazy circles on the exposed skin. "it was really fun. I wanna ride horses more. Maybe I could pay the stable boys ta let me ride them and to keep quiet." 

"Scandalous, Lennon." The boy smirked. 

"It'll have me uncle George rollin' in his grave!" The prince laughed, imagining those words coming out of Mimi's stern mouth. Paul seemed to be able to imagine it too, and he giggled, grin overcoming his face.

"'Cause it's such a horrible thing to do. Horse ridin'. Yer disgracin' the family, Johnny." 

He rolled his eyes. "Too late fer that."

They both fell silent for a moment. Even though John was joking about it, his words still held a certain amount of truth behind it. Mimi had told him more than once ; "you are disgrace to the royal family, John." She didn't seem to understand the weight of the words she spoke, and the damaging affect it had on John, slowly chipping away at his insecurities and his trust until he crumbled under the pressure. Paul knew that, too, and his eyes grew soft with sympathy, long, nimble fingers reaching to card through John's tousled auburn locks, patches of sunlight turning flecks of it to fire. His hair was painted with vermilion when under the light of the sun - it never failed to mesmerise Paul, pulling him further and further into the world of the mysterious, thought-filled person that was John Lennon.

"I'm here for you." Was all Paul said. And it was all John needed. 

He felt his throat constrict with emotion, his feelings bubbling up his chest, ready to burst from his lips in three life-changing words. His revelation came rushing back to his mind, throwing him off for a moment as he remembered. I'm in love with James Paul McCartney. A trill of terror shot up his spine, but not without the warmth of excitement in his veins, though. How on earth could he possibly tell his true feelings to Paul? He was in love with him! He was absolutely sure of his feelings, seeming like everything around him would fall away until it was just him and Paul, alone against the world. He had no idea how it happened either, but he had a feeling he knew what was happening as they continued to spend time together, growing closer with each passing day. Their sharing of childhood trauma, common love of music and reading (even if Paul was still lacking in his reading skills from a shitty, almost non-existent education) bringing them close together, more than John thought they would. Everything was happening so fast; John's life changing so quickly in a matter of months and throwing him headlong into his affections. And of course, it begs the question - does Paul feel the same way?

He didn't know if there was a way for him to find out. He didn't want to confess his feelings right then and there, unknowing if Paul even felt that strongly about him as he did. What if Paul only liked John, nothing more? Would Paul ever love John like he did? Would Paul only like John romantically, but eventually his interest would fade and they would part ways?   
His insecurities ran wild at these thoughts, all these new problems that he had no idea how to deal with plaguing his mind. He knew he couldn't hide from it forever. He had to face facts, deal with his feelings and how Paul would react. Paul knew him, and he wouldn't be able to keep a secret as big as this from his lover for very long.   
John was headstrong and terribly stubborn - but so was Paul. It was a trait that they shared; the more John hid from it, the more Paul would question, and when both of their temperamental attitudes collided - it would turn ugly extremely quickly. 

He wondered if, in another life - they both had the same personalities they did now, and if it ever caused their friendship to end abruptly and gruesomely. John wouldn't let it happen, though. He cared for Paul too much, and was determined to keep the boy in his life as much as he could.

"Are you alright, love?" His lover's gentle voice sounded near him, albeit tentative, as if trying to be careful to not scare John away.

"What?" John blinked, the thoughts scrambling away as he stared at Paul, face set in an unreadable expression. But his eyes reflected his true feelings - and they were clouded with confusion and fear, dark and troubled. "Oh, 'm fine, Macca. Don't ye worry about me." 

"I will anyway," Paul raised an eyebrow. John knew he was right. "Tell me what's up?" He tilted his head, his expression of genuine concern and worry at how John was so quiet and brooding, causing guilt to flood the princes' veins. He felt horrible that he was keeping this from his boyfriend, but he knew it was for the better at that moment. He couldn't tell him. Not yet.

"Just a bit tired, y'know. With all that's goin' on.. the wedding preparation, what Mimi's been doing.." It wasn't entirely untrue. He was exhausted from all that was going on his life, and it seemed to want to add more and more weight to his shoulders - the newest addition being the realisation that he was in love with Paul.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about all that. I really hope ye'll be able to get through this. And Cynthia seems like a lovely girl, I'm glad yer marryin' her and not someone ye don't like." Paul continued to stroke his lover's hair, comforting him with his touch. His chest rose and fell with each slow breath, and John buried his head further into his clothes, breathing in his familiar, reassuring scent. 

"Yes, but still..." he trailed off, voice thick with melancholy. "our marriage lacks somethin' that's considered pretty important in those situations. I don't love her how 'm 'sposed to." 

"I know. But.. would ye rather a person who supports you and who ye are, and accepts the fact that yer with someone else - than someone who doesn't support it and probably would out ye to yer aunt?" The raven-haired boy sighed.

"Yer right." John nodded eventually, agreeing with Paul's words. He was glad he was marrying Cynthia, who understood his situation and supported him in full, and still someone he could be friends with in spite of their situation. 

"Mm.." Paul lifted his head, looking to the sky above them. The sun was on the west side of the sky now, beginning to sink further and further til it reached the horizon. It was around 3'o clock when Paul checked his watch. "We'd better be gettin' back. 'Sposed to help out with the pigs today, their pen is beginning to fall apart - gotta rebuild it." He let John slide off his body, the prince standing up before holding out a hand to help the younger to his feet. 

"Wait, before we go back -" John stopped him from moving any further, expression bitter and eyes dark as he stood there. Paul watched him with another bout of worry, wondering what was really going through his head and causing him to be brooding and so distant for the last two days.

"What's up?" Paul encouraged.

"I- Mimi's gonna keep me shut up in the manor.. I won't be able ta leave and visit ye. All the servants and guards an' that are gonna be on high alert to make sure I don't sneak off, and no one sneaks in ta see me." His eyes grew sad at the thought of parting with his friends, not able to see them for what could be weeks, possibly even months. "I don't want ye to get caught and have anythin' happen to you, I don't want ye to come try and meet me. It's too risky."

"John-" Paul stopped himself, and John could see the raw dismay and despondency in his eyes at not being able to see him. The prince reached and entwined their hands together, relishing the feeling of his lover's fingers wrapped around his as he gazed into his eyes. ".. do ye know how long?"

"Not really.. it could be days. Weeks..." Months. John kept the last bit to himself, but he could see Paul was thinking of it too. "I promise, 'm gonna try to get into Mimi's good books, see if she could let me off earlier than she intended, but I dunno." He paused, tongue darting over his lips as he searched for the right words. "She seemed about ready to lock me in prison to ensure I never see ye guys ever again."

Paul kept silent. He knew no words he could say would grant John access to continue seeing his friends (him, most of all), no matter what. And John knew that. All he had to do was lock eyes with him, knowing exactly how he was feeling, all words spoken through his forlorn expression, not needing to say anything.

He pulled him into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around his back tightly, resting his head in the crook of his neck; he breathed in his scent as much as he could, trying to commit it to memory, knowing he wouldn't get to feel it again for some time. They pulled away after what seemed like years, gazing into each other's eyes sadly. All Paul did was smile, eyes filled with sadness but warmth, soothing John as much as he could in that moment.

"Tell George and Ringo for me, will you?" He spoke so quietly that it could have been mistaken for the rustling of the trees, and Paul nodded.

"I promise."

✧✧✧✧✧

The backdoor of the manor shut softly behind John as he crept back into the palace, stepping lightly to avoid making noise as he made his way through the servant's corridors, avoiding the maid he passed's curious gaze. Eventually he emerged in the back hallway, shoes scuffing against the rich carpet. He knew he had to talk to Mimi at one point before he would be able to retire to his room, and he tried to gather as much courage as possible before going to find the woman. Moving through the hallway that eventually led to the front parlour area, past the wide, vast stairs that led to the second floor. 

He saw the door to the greeting room open, the woman in question moving out of it, carrying some sort of cloth, stepping delicately across the marble floor to move to the lounge room. But, on her way there, she spotted her nephew, her expression changing to something unreadable.

"Ah, there you are, John. I have something to discuss with you." She placed her hands behind her back as he moved forward to meet her in the middle.

"Yes, Mimi?" His voice was hollow, staring unfeelingly at the woman who controlled half of his life, not in the mood to rebel - deciding it was better to just give in, and make himself agreeable to the queen.

"So, you know that we have to have a ball to celebrate the engagement. Family members have been sending letters in congratulations, and we must hold a gathering to properly celebrate it." She was formal and cold, as always. Her eyes stared down at him, guarded and completely unreadable, her body tense as she spoke.

"Yes, of course." He tried to poshen his accent to the best of his ability in his tired state, nodding and attempting to hold himself higher. "I assume you have a list of people you wish to invite?"

"Yes! I would like you to write the invitations for these, as well - they are mainly the same people who are to attend the wedding. Next week, Friday - I was thinking that would be the best time to host it. The public will be most pleased with this." Her eyes shone, and she reached out a hand to rest on her nephews shoulder. "As will I. And, you know.."

"What?" John raised an eyebrow warily, wondering where this was going.

"I am proud of you. You've taken on these responsibilities far better than I suspected you would, and you and Miss Powell seem to have a good connection. I'm sorry to be so harsh on you, John - but it is for your better good. It's your responsibility to meet expectations that have been set upon you, and you have been doing well so far, in spite of everything. You have to do this, John. We must keep the bloodline going. It's your duty, not only to the family, to me, to Miss Powell, to our employees - but to yourself." Her eyes grew soft for a moment. "I know you will do well. I am proud of you." 

And with that, she promptly walked off, disappearing into the lounge room, leaving John standing there, confused and flooded with muddled emotions.

Even Cynthia's comforting smile, that she sent across the room from where she descended the stairs, having seen the ordeal; didn't give him much comfort. It let him know, though - someone was there for him. Who truly understood his struggles. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi omg sorry gamers for the wait! just been on like a hiatus sorta on other socials n havent had any motivation to write. but its kinda coming back to me now and i think ill be back to uploading regularly soon. hope u enjoyed this chapter, there wnt be much fluff in the next few ones bc john will be away from paul :((( anyroad ty all for reading !!!!! honestly ily all so much, every one of ya <33333 !!! see yal later bye byeee


	39. thirty eight.

may 1859 

Glossy sheets of rain hurtled against the smooth window panes, filling John's ears with white noise as he scuffed a shoe against the polished marble flooring of the front parlour. Trying to blink away the lingering feelings of being overworked from his eyes, he stared unfeelingly out into the rainstorm. The sky was a dark, looming grey; different shades churning and mixing together to create the rain-laden clouds that emptied its melancholic substance to the world below. It seemed the weather matched John's despondent emotions, the earth crying for the loss that the prince suffered in not being able to see his lover.

He couldn't seem to shake his sadness off - it was clinging to him like a dead weight, following him around everywhere he went until he couldn't really bring himself to feel happy for most anything. It's not like a lot of the things around the manor made him happy previously, anyway. Preparations for the ball to celebrate John and Cynthia's engagement had been running rampant for the last few days, and the actual ball would take place tomorrow evening. He absolutely hated the idea of it, and didn't really have any idea how on earth he would get through it without screaming at anyone without his friends or Paul being there to support him. But - it was for the good of the family, so he had to do it - according to Mimi. Besides, he didn't want to get into his aunt's bad books anyway. He wanted to try and please her as much as he could so he could possibly be let off earlier so he could go and see Paul again, if it was even possible that she would. He knew she was watching him, and also made everyone else watch him as well to make sure he doesn't run off again.

Him and Paul would have to be much, much more careful in the future. It sucked, but it was necessary. They wouldn't be able to see each other as much, and probably would struggle to go anywhere in public. Mimi had eyes all over the city, and if Jim knew Paul was seeing John Lennon , the prince of Liverpool - he would be duly punished. It just made the thought of running away from everything more and more appealing.

That was it. Running away!   
It would end up becoming too hard if they stayed where they were. It was becoming harder and harder for them to see each other - and it wasn't like John had anything keeping him in his situation. He couldn't care less about his duties as a to-be king, Mimi cared more about her image than she did her own nephew; his mother was dead, his father had abandoned them all a long time ago, and he had no siblings. None that he saw enough, anyway. His family were all unnecessarily wealthy and had no sympathy for anyone in the lesser classes, caring only about themselves and their expensive riches. John learnt to care about other people from a young age! All because of George. And it was only reinforced when he met Ringo later and eventually, Paul. His true friends.

They had so much money, more than he knew what to deal with - it wouldn't matter if John stole a couple thousand pounds, it would barely dent the amount they had. He wouldn't be able to tell anyone where they were going, of course. Not even Cynthia, even if she was in support of their choice; it was too dangerous. He loved her, but not in the way he was meant to, and not enough to stay in the life he was always so unhappy with. Never fitting in with any of them, no matter how hard he tried. He could never be a stone-hearted aristocrat, he didn't have it in him to do so.

The only problem - convincing Paul. And George and Ringo too, quite frankly. He didn't want to go without any of them. John didn't want to pluck them from their lives, away from their family and friends and take them away into an entirely new world... it just wasn't fair. What if they didn't want to leave? If he asked, would they ever be committed enough to go through with it? What if they agree at first, but pull out at the last minute? It was a terrifying thought. He desperately wanted them to come with him, away from it all to a place where they could truly be happy. But Paul had a family who loved him. His father, albeit being strict and hard-working - did love him, and wanted the best for him. Mike! His brother! As if Paul would just up and ditch his brother; it wasn't right. Both George and Ringo too- they had families who loved them, and Ringo was also middle class. They also had a better situation for their relationship, they weren't from such wildly different social statuses, and had excuses to hang out, unlike Paul and John. They had too much to lose if they left. Even if George and Paul were working-class and struggled to make a living, having to begin working before 10 years of age and beg and steal and strive to survive; they've been doing so for their entire lives and made it that far. They would manage perfectly fine, just as they did for all those years before.

His heart truly ached at that - he yearned so desperately to escape, to run away from it all and create a new life where he was truly in control of his own, he had no duties to the royal family, none of that bullshit that he couldn't bring himself to ever care about, and a place where he could truly be content with his lover. Someone he actually was in love with now. He had been doing so for the majority of his life; sneaking away god knows how many times, to the heart of the city where he would blend in with the crowd, pretending he was just any other regular citizen, a place where he felt truly at ease and that he belonged. It was time to make the final leap of faith and abandon his hell of a life for good.

But what was the point of it, if Paul, George or Ringo weren't with him? Without them, it felt like a total waste. There wasn't any use in running away if they weren't going to be there every step of the way.

John blinked, gazing for one last prolonged moment into the storm outside before turning away, his footsteps echoing through the cold, empty halls of the silent manor; eyes to the floor, shoulders hunched in despair. There's no escaping my fate. 

-

"Alright! Is every last thing in place? The orchestra, the food?-" Mimi was darting about the entire manor in a flurry of red silk and anxiety, making sure every last thing was in its proper place.

The front doors were propped open to welcome the guests into their (not so) humble abode, the front greeting area all dressed up with tables of flowers and a place to leave wedding gifts; off to the left, the first door in the hallway, was where the ballroom was situated, and maids and waiters stood near it, ready to greet people inside, take their coats to the coatroom and check them off the list to make sure there weren't any unwelcome intruders. George was among that group, dressed up impeccably in his spotless uniform, hands behind his back, staring expressionless in front of him. Him and John had shared a glance, his friend's eyes soft with sympathy, but they weren't able to talk when others were around, so they just shared a polite nod before John continued on his way.

Entering the ballroom, the prince stared around at the gigantic room with its high walls; it had been cleaned and prepared to look flawless; the main area in the middle was where the guests would dance, and where John and Cynthia would be expected to dance themselves, and expected to look happy and in love too. All around the dancing area there were long tables covered in pure white tablecloths, probably about 40, each with a varying amount of chairs. That was where they would have dinner. At the very left end, the band was in the corner, all their instruments all set up, the sounds of them adjusting their violins and basses and drums to be perfectly in tune filling the room. Waiters and maids darted around the room, making sure every last detail was flawless and nothing would go wrong; the largest table, which was a few metres away from the band, was where John, Cynthia and Mimi would eat. On the right end of the room were two doors, leading into the lounge room where people could go if they wished; the chefs would enter with the food from the doors where John just entered. Through the lounge room, they would be able to go to the bathrooms to freshen up if needed. 

"I guess everything's in place." John sighed, crossing his arms as he watched a maid walk past. She must have thought it was a question, since she turned to him and curtsied, looking meekly at the floor.

"Yes, your majesty. Everything is prepared, we are ready for guests to arrive." She didn't look up at him even once, hands behind her back as she almost shrunk before him like someone begging for mercy. It greatly unsettled him, and he stared down at her in confusion.

"Uhm.. you don't have to cower like that. I'm not a bloody god." His scouse accent slipped through the last few words, and he quickly shook himself, trying to pretend it didn't happen.

"Oh-" she paused, as if at a loss for words, and slowly lifted her gaze to meet his eye. When she saw him gazing down at her with a sympathetic, albeit uncomfortable expression, she relaxed a bit. "yes, your majesty." With that, she scuttled off to attend to the last of her duties.

The way she acted confused him a bit - he knew some of the staff by name, and always asked them to call him by his name and things like that; most of the time they enjoyed it and it made it easier for them to get along and not be tense with each other, more informal than Mimi would usually prefer. He liked it though, it helped him feel at least a little bit more normal. But he didn't expect her to act like that when he always asked them to talk to him like a normal person. Sometimes they were just used to it, though - especially since they always took orders from Mimi, and she was as stern with her staff, actually more than she was with John. It was probably due to the fact that John had been in an irritated, distressed mood for the last few days due to Mimi's new implication of his being locked in, and maybe he snapped at her or one of the others without meaning to.

Brushing off his thoughts, he watched as Cynthia entered the ballroom, looking absolutely stunning as always; she was wearing a beautifully decorated dress, puffed out with a wire underneath and brushing the ground ever so slightly; it was coloured a rich lilac purple with white patterns and a white silk shawl. Her blonde hair had been immensely curled and designed in a complex hairstyle, framing her pale face with her smooth, delicate skin; terribly expensive jewellery hung from her slender neck.

She was so beautiful. Even naturally without makeup, she had such sweet eyes and lush lips, and an elegance to her that matched that of a swans - he didn't know why he couldn't bring himself to love her. Why couldn't he love her? No matter how hard he tried to; he imagined kissing her, embracing her, enjoying every curve of her body, having children with her - but it was to no avail. The thought of doing any of that terrified him, and he felt disgusted with himself to a point of deliberately avoiding her. He couldn't stand to look at her and know that he didn't love her in the way he was meant to, expected to, supposed to. She was such a lovely, wonderful, kind person who deserved to marry someone who loved her, loved her in the way she deserved and desired; not be brought into a loveless marriage with a man who was in love with another man. A working-class man. She deserved to be loved. He didn't deserve to be married to her. She deserved better than someone like John.

"Hello, John. Are you ready? The guests will be here any minute now." Her sweet voice filled his ears, soft like walking on flower petals. She gazed up at him with her hazel eyes, shining with warmth as she touched his arm briefly.

His throat closed up so tightly it hurt, and he clenched his jaw to try and keep his emotions inside. It hurt so bad to know he was hurting Cynthia just by being engaged to her. He was hurting her. He had to leave before it got any worse. Relieve both of them, leaving her to be able to marry someone she truly loved, and who loved her in return.

"Yeah," Was all he could manage. Don't cry. Don't cry. He chanted to himself, sucking in a harsh breath, attempting to keep his composure and not let himself break down in front of anyone. He couldn't.

There was a welcome distraction from his thoughts, though - the sound of voices and hooves against stone sounded in the distance, and the neighing of the horses as they were pulled to a stop outside the manor. The first guests had arrived, and John knew they would be family members first. They were always the first to get there.

Moving to go greet them, he slipped past the waiters again and to the front doors where Mimi already was, ready to welcome them graciously to their home. Looking out to the front garden below, he watched as the bushes and statues were bathed in a blood red colour due to the sun sinking down into the depths of the earth, the last of its rays spread out across the grass in dark colours; when he looked up to the sky, he saw the first few stars of the night were beginning to appear, and a few clouds smeared the sky alongside it. The sunset was one of John's favourite times of the day - since he wasn't really a morning person, he never saw sunrises. But sunsets were lovely, and night followed close behind in his favourites as well.

"Ah! Mr and Mrs Wright, come in, come in!" Mimi was as hospitable as could be, like always - there was a touch of warmth in her voice this time, though, since the woman walking up the steps was her sister; Mimi was the oldest of five daughters, and the one who took to the throne when their mother died, and soon after their father. The rest of the remaining daughters lived in separate properties now, and were still a part of the royal family, but weren't going to take the throne when Mimi stepped down; that was for John and Cynthia. 

John greeted them with a nod, smiling politely as the waiters rushed to take their coats and bags, taking them away to the coatroom - the prince couldn't help but watch George take Mrs Wright's suitcase with a bow of his head, before he began to drag it away (he was obviously struggling to carry it due to having twig-like arms, and he couldn't help but chuckle a little at the sight of the spindly boy dragging a bulky suitcase that seemed heavier than him). The rest of the family made their way inside after them, and soon after - they spotted more carriages arriving. 

Leaving the rest of the guests to the staff, Mimi, John and Cynthia left and went back to the ballroom. The rest of the royal family were making themselves comfortable, and ordering drinks from some waiters that stood nearby; knowing he had to make conversation with them, John sucked in a breath, fiddling with the end of his sleeve nervously while he tried to think of something to say. 

"It's okay, John." Cynthia noticed his hesitation, and turned to face him, looking him in the eye. "We'll get through this. It's only for a couple hours, then we'll be free to go for now. If you ever need a break or something," she paused, smiling at him reassuringly. "just tell me, and I'll make up some excuse for you." 

"God, thank you, Cyn. I really don't deserve you." He sighed in utter relief, thankful that Cynthia was on his side amongst all this. It gave him a new strength, and the two made their way towards the group of guests to talk to them. In the background, John heard footsteps echoing on the wooden floor and voices accompanying the noise, indicating that more people had arrived.

"Ah! Mr. Lennon! Miss Powell!" One of Mimi's sisters (Harriet, John remembered her name was) reached and shook his hand, positively beaming. John kissed the back of her hand in politeness before letting go, moving to shake hands with the rest of them as well, trying to smile convincingly. "Congratulations on the engagement! What a wonderful blessing!" 

"Absolutely delightful. Miss Powell is a gorgeous woman, Mr. Lennon - and you are an accomplished, intelligent man. A great match that will surely benefit all!" One of the woman's husbands commented as the prince shook his hand, a champagne glass in the other. 

"I remember when John was just a child, running about the house and playing. So adorable! Even then, I knew he would make a good king." One of Mimi's other sisters commented with a warm smile, resting a hand on John's arm. Only his family could call him by his first name. 

"Oh, you flatter me so," John chuckled uneasily, eyes darting to where Cynthia was talking to one of the husbands, answering his questions. He was leering at her a bit, and stood too close for Cynthia's comfort - he quickly made his way over to them, anger building in his chest as he linked his arm with his fiance's. "dearly sorry, but we must go and greet the other guests arriving. We'll speak to you later!" He faked another smile their way, Cynthia clutching onto him, eyes to the floor and flashing with fear.

"Oh, no worries, my dear! Congratulations again!" Harriet called after them as they hurried away.

"Thanks, John. That man was creeping me out." Cynthia whispered to him with a grateful look, and he smiled at her, genuine this time.

"It's okay. You don't deserve that." 

Their conversation was cut short, however, when he saw his 'friends' Pete Best come up to greet him, some other boys alongside him, chattering to themselves idly. John hated that pompous look on Pete's face, and he itched to wipe it off with a good punch; he managed to compose himself, however - instead pretending to just spot him coming and smile, walking over to talk to him.

"John," Pete nodded at the couple, the other boys noising greetings too. "Congrats on the engagement. Lucky man." He winked at Cynthia, who just stared at him with a somewhat grossed out expression.

"There goes the last of your freedom, eh, John?" A boy called Kevin smirked at him, causing the other boys to start snickering. "Finally tied down."

"I guess you could say so," John shrugged with a halfhearted chuckle. "I'm glad of it, though." He turned to look at Cynthia, trying to look as smitten with her as he possibly could; it seemed to have worked, since a few of the boys made fake vomiting noises and giggled to themselves.

"That's great. Well, we won't keep you two for much longer. I suspect you have other duties to attend to." Pete nodded at them, his gaze giving nothing away of his emotions as he raised his champagne glass. "To Miss Powell and John." John connected his glass with his, trying to smile widely before the couple walked off, leaving those boys to their own devices.

The ball was almost in full swing now, almost everyone who was invited having arrived and settled themselves down, the ballroom filled with impeccably dressed aristocrats chattering about whatever they found interesting in that current time; he knew that in only a few minutes, him and Cynthia would have to dance by themselves, with everyone watching - before everyone else would dance. It made his throat tighten with anxiety, but he figured he would be alright. He had dealt with events like these for basically his entire life, he knew exactly how to act and deal with it. 

Him and Cynthia stuck together for most of the night - they went about the room, greeting people and accepting their words of congratulations (every damn person who came wanted to congratulate them on their oh-so-wonderful engagement. John was about ready to smack anyone who mentioned it ever again), accepting their compliments on their stunning home and how wonderful of a couple they were, and "I remember when John was just a little boy! How adorable he was!" (but, it seemed John couldn't recall who they were.)

It seemed the party was going smoothly, and John began to feel the effects of the alcohol-laden champagne begin to work on his head, slowing his movements and flushing his cheeks. Not enough to be tipsy, though - he wanted to get drunk after everyone was gone to numb the pain of being apart from Paul. 

"Attention, attention all!" Mimi called to everyone, using a teaspoon and tapping it against a glass to catch their attention. Within a few minutes, most people had gone silent and turned their attention to her. Cynthia and John were beside her, arms linked and prepared for when Mimi would announce their marriage once again. "Welcome, all of you." The queen put down the cup and teaspoon. "I am very proud to declare that this ball celebrates a momentous occasion - the engagement of my son John and Miss Powell of Hoylake!" An applause echoed throughout the room, and the two pretended to look bashful but pleased at the attention.

"The marriage is to occur on the 5th of January next year. For now," she paused. "it's time to dance!" A polite applause sounded once again as the newly engaged couple paraded to the centre of the room, taking up positions and preparing to dance. John felt a raw fear deep in his stomach, a shiver shooting up the back of his neck as he stared down at Cynthia, who looked equally nervous, but her lips were quirked up with a comforting smile.

This is my life now, he thought as they sprung into dance, the band striking up a familiar song; The Blue Danube by Johann Strauss II. Tears welled in his eyes, but he managed to choke them down and keep up with how fast Cynthia was going, his dance movements rusty and unused since his last birthday, where he first met Paul.

I need you so badly right now, Macca, he begged to the skies, hoping uselessly that Paul would burst in and they could run away from it all. 

I love you.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry this isnt so amazing and action packed :(( just like a bit showing john alone and the ball etc. i hope yal enjoyed it nonetheless,,, im having some doubts about this book so like if anyone reads these please leave some feedback cuz idk how to feel about this fic anymore hhfhfhf anyroad ily all ty for reading <33333


	40. thirty nine.

may 1859

"Hey, are you alright, Paul? Ye seem in the dumps today."

"Wha-huh? Oh.." Paul lowered his head dazedly, scratching idly at his knee. His vision was blurry at the edges and he couldn't seem to focus his gaze on anything properly when he looked up to see his father standing over him. "'m fine."

"C'mon, son! You can tell me what's up if you'd like." Jim smiled down at him, albeit worriedly; he sat down on the empty crate next to Paul, who was sitting on the pavement below, back resting against the cool brick wall of his house. He had been previously staring up at the edge of the wooden roof above, off within his own thoughts.

"Oh, no, da'-" He attempted to smile. "I'm fine. Just.. tired, is all." His eyes darkened forlornly, but he just stood up and brushed himself off before sending one last smile his father's direction. "Goin' to hang out with Ringo, 's that okay?"

"Alright. Be home for dinner." Jim nodded at him again, standing up himself to go back to working on the fields, like he always did. He was such a good dad, Paul knew that. He did so much to support them and care for them, even more so after Mary died. Paul wished he could be more open with him.

Letting out another despondent sigh, he left the scene and went off down the street to the pub where him and Ringo were gonna meet. He longed so much for John, to see him, touch him, kiss him... but he had heard nothing from his lover since he told him he would be confined to the manor. Paul knew it would be a long time before they'd be able to finally be together again. 

Lifting his head, he gazed at the cloudless sky above him. The ground was still damp and smelt earthy from the rain the day before, but the sun poured strongly down from the heavens, warming Paul's ebony hair and back. It was comforting, somewhat. He knew it would only get hotter from there as summer was just around the corner. He wondered what it'd be like to spend his summer with John. They weren't together, nor really _friends,_ during the previous one. The doe-eyed boy could imagine hot nights spent together in the barn, maybe - or curled up in between the prince's expensive sheets. Probably on top of them, though; it would be too hot to sleep with the covers over them. He could imagine hot days too spent sneaking around the farm or in the luscious gardens of the manor, maybe wandering the streets of Liverpool with John wearing a disguise... 

It was appealing, definitely - but the sneaking unsettled him. He hated having to hide their relationship from everyone except George and Ringo. They had to hide the fact that they even knew each other. It was so exhausting, draining almost all enjoyment out of their time spent together, because they were both worrying too much about being caught, John being recognised, their insanely differing social statuses getting in the way of pretty much everything. Having to hide the romantic aspect of their relationship, he could handle - after all, everyone like them had to do it, George and Ringo being some of them. But they couldn't even be around each other without sneaking about or creating a whole new identity for his lover. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly bitter as resentment coiled around his lungs. It wasn't fair! They deserved better than this. He clenched his teeth and let out a growl, kicking at a nearby slab of wood with as much strength he could muster. Pain shot up his foot and he clutched at it for a moment, immediately regretting it. The wood had splintered under the kick and snapped in half, though. It seemed to have broken off from the front of a house wall or something. Sighing again, he stared down at it. He felt like that slab of wood for a moment, broken under the pressure of everything in his life. Lost, discarded on the dusty dirt road. That would be him if anyone found out about him and John. Banished from his family. He could imagine the fury and utter disgust alight in his father's eyes if he ever caught them. 

Paul didn't know if he could keep up the facade for much longer.

"What the hell will I do?.." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, lamenting to himself over the situation; but Paul lifted his head, realising Ringo was probably waiting for him at the pub, wondering where the hell is taking him so long. Picking up the pace after he swiped a hand under his nose, he checked his trouser pockets to see if he still had his money. The boy was relieved to find it was still there. 

The road underneath him turned to tar as he left the farmlands where he lived; he passed a few people who lived near him and others he knew from this side of town, muttering polite hellos or sending nods of greeting in their direction occasionally. It was nice to have acquaintances around sometimes. The McCartney family had lots of friends and people they knew in their circle, as did most other families and persons in this region of the city. Never anyone from the wealthy side of course - and the wealthy people always had more connections, like people from places like London and France. 

Paul had never been to France or any of England's neighbouring countries. He had been to London once when he was 12 to 13 or so, a trip with his family. He learnt later on it was so Mary could have some time with them after learning of her deadly cancer, knowing it wouldn't be much longer until she'd pass away. That had been the first and only time so far. He remembered his mother teaching him French when he was younger, but he could hardly remember the phrases now.

_"Remember, Paulie -" Her honeyed-hazel eyes stared kindly down at him, twinkling with amusement when he wriggled in his seat at the dining table. "What does 'comment ça va' mean?_

_"Uhm.." Nine-year-old Paul halted in his movements, brows furrowing in concentration as he fought hard to remember. He tapped a finger to his chin. "Oh! How are you!" He brightened at the realisation. _

_"Good! Good, love." Mary clapped joyfully, rubbing his shoulder with a kiss to his forehead. "What about 'comment tu t'appelles'?" _

_"What's your name!" He grinned, warmed by his mother's praise when she laughed and congratulated him again, causing him to jump up into her lap excitedly. "I can show George all my French skills and make 'im jealous!"_

He smiled sadly at the memory. Paul would always remember her as she was before she got sick. Unfailingly kind, compassionate, and headstrong, as well as sure of herself and both her son's talents. She was the head of the family. 

"Paul! Was wonderin' what took ya so long." He felt a comforting, familiar hand on his shoulder, making him glance up in surprise. He was outside the pub already, and Ringo had come out from inside and spotted him. Ringo's hair was tousled and windswept, and his azure eyes shone with welcome as Paul was guided into the pub. The pair were greeted with a blast of warm air and the raucous chatter usually associated with pubs; it was a welcome distraction from the doe-eyed boy's jumbled thoughts. 

"Sorry, got caught up back home," he trailed behind his older friend, calling hellos to some of the other customers they recognised before finding seats at the front of the bar underneath windows that were caked with ancient dust and cobwebs. Settling comfortably in the worn leather seats of the booth, Paul watched Ringo dig money from his pockets. He pulled out his own money, deciding they should split the bill.

"No hard feelings, Paulie. I'll be back in a mo', gettin' our beers." Ringo flashed a smile in his friend's direction before disappearing through the crowd. 

The raven-haired boy rested his chin in his hand and tapped his shoe against the wooden floor to a silent tune. As he waited patiently for Ringo to come back with their beers, his eyes raked across the room, watching all the alcohol-drinkers that surrounded him. Suddenly, one locked eyes with him; his own widened when he recognised him. It was one of the lackeys of that group they fought all those weeks ago. The man's expression went to fearful, and he could almost feel the shame radiating off him as he turned away quickly to avoid facing one of the boys he had fought with. The people he were with weren't the same group that they fought, though, thank god.

Memories of searing pain in his side, watching the crimson blood blossom across his shirt, and John's panicked face staring down at him, blood drying on his lip that had burst from his nose after being punched. It had been a long recovery, and there was a scar that would remain there forever on his side. Horror boiled in his stomach at those traumatic memories. Something he never wanted to experience ever again. Quickly composing himself, Paul shoved away the thoughts as Ringo came back over, carrying two beer glasses filled to the brim. The golden liquid jumped and swayed with his movements, and Paul was worried he would spill them for a moment.

"Here are the heaven's juices!" The other threw them down on the table, plopping into his seat across from Paul with a content noise. "God, I've been cravin' a beer for a while now."

"Same here," The younger agreed as he brought the mug to his lips. The strong liquid burned his throat, the bitter but rewarding taste flooding his tongue, warming his insides and limbs. He couldn't help but let himself smile at the familiar feeling, taking another swig before putting it down in front of him. "really need somethin' to get me mind off of things for a while."

"Oh? Why's that?" Ringo blinked at him, radiating curiosity as he took a sip of his own. 

"I guess..." Paul started. "just everythin' that's been going on. Me life has gotten so chaotic and exhaustin' now, I dunno what to do." 

"It is, innit? I can't begin to imagine what it'd be like for you and John." His friend's brows furrowed. "It's a lot easier for me and George."

"I'm tired of all the secrecy y'know? So much of our time spent together is worrying and sneakin' about, trying not to be recognised or caught." He crossed his arms, resting them on the table. "It turns everythin' into a chore."

"I'm sorry about that," Ringo's eyes were round with sympathy. "maybe talk to John about it. See if you guys can work out some sort of strategy. I dunno, honestly - I've never had to deal with anythin' as bad as you guys." 

"It's okay. That's a good idea, anyroad. Maybe there's somethin' else we can do." Paul shrugged.

"Yeah! I guess we won't be able to see him for a while yet, though. He told me about how he's been confined to the manor." 

"It really sucks," Paul sighed, taking a long swig of his beer. "we'll just have to find a way around it."

"I wouldn't suggest taking too many risks, though. There could be really bad consequences." Ringo stared at him seriously. 

"I won't. But - I also heard about the ball they had to celebrate the wedding, yesterday." Paul frowned. "Did you or George get to go?"

"No, I mean.." He paused. "John isn't allowed to see us either. George attended as a servant, not really a guest. It'd raise suspicion if John was caught talking to him."

"It's just not fair, is it?" The younger stared into his frothy drink with sad eyes.

"It isn't." Ringo smiled sadly. "Anyways, let's just enjoy our beers, eh?"

"Not too much, though. Da'll kill me if I come home drunk before dinner."

"You'll be locked up inside like John!" The older snickered.

"I'd be on barn duties, probably. And I'd lose an ear."

"You won't hear it then, when John comes running to you all like _"I could not keep away, my love! Kiss me, oh, kiss me!""_

"Shut up." Paul punched his arm with a roll of his eyes, but his cheeks flared pink. 

"You know I'm right. When you guys next see each other it's gonna be like - both of you running towards each other in a field of daisies with yer arms outstretched, tears running down your faces, yelling to each other _"at last, the love of my life!"_ or something." Ringo's eyes shone with impish delight at the thought. 

"And why is that bad?" Paul smirked. 

"I didn't say it was! I'm just sayin' that's what's gonna happen."

"Suit yerself, Starkey."

✧✧✧✧✧

"John?" 

"Cyn? What's up?" An auburn-haired boy lifted his head from which he was deep in work, sleepy eyes blinking at her as he flashed a small smile. John had been writing replies to family members' letters asking questions about the wedding and complimenting the ball that occurred the night before. He dug his fingertips into his eyes for a moment to try and wake himself up before gazing at his fiance. She was all dressed up as if ready to go out, and she smiled sadly at him.

"I need to tell you something."

"Go on," he gestured to the bed next to him for her to sit, and Cynthia did as such, resting her hands in her lap and twirling a loose piece of string around her finger.

"I'm leaving to go back home. I'll be back a week before Christmas, since the wedding is about 2 weeks after it. We're still organising the wedding, I'll just be at home." 

John gazed at her in disbelief for a few moments, disheartened by the news; she squeezed his elbow comfortingly, eyes soft with sympathy. 

"Yer the only person here that keeps me sane around here, Cynthia," he gazed down at his lap. "I can't talk to George.. I don't want to risk him losing his job." 

"I know, and I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave, but I guess I have to." She stood up, holding out a hand to help John up. "Come say goodbye?"

"Sure." John agreed and with that, he followed Cynthia out of his bedroom and into the hallway. The ground floor below was littered with servants running about the place, carrying trays of tea and other things, and a fair amount carrying his fiance's luggage to the carriage that stood waiting just outside the iron black gates. Mimi was there at the front doors, in conversation with the driver. 

"Ah, there you are, Miss Powell. Ready to go?" The driver spotted the girl and bowed respectfully. She curtsied in return and nodded - then turned to say goodbye to John one last time.

"Goodbye, John." She smiled softly.

John couldn't help but bring her into a hug, burying his head in the crook of her shoulder. He breathed in her scent of rose petals and honey, trying to commit it to memory; he still loved her, although platonically - she was one of the only people he could be really himself around, and didn't have to sneak about to see her. 

"Promise you'll write?" Cynthia pulled away, gazing up at him with wide hopeful eyes, resting her hands on his shoulders for a moment before letting go. 

"I promise." 

Cynthia nodded, then turned to Mimi with a polite curtsy.   
"Thank you, your majesty - for accommodating my stay for so long. It's been an honour to be here, I'm forever in your debt." 

"You're welcome, Miss Powell. It was a pleasure having you here. Of course, you can still come and visit between now and Christmas." Mimi held her hands behind her back formally.

"Of course. Goodbye." She gazed at aunt and nephew who stood side by side, sending one last smile in the latter's direction as she turned to walk down the front steps, the driver saying one last goodbye of his own before following her. 

"Bye," John's voice was just above a whisper, and he came up to the window to gaze out of it. The prince watched Cynthia make her way across the path through the front gardens to the gates, where the guards opened them up to let her through.

"She will be a good wife to you, John. And will make a good queen." He felt his aunt's presence behind him. "I'm pleased with this match." She rested a hand on his shoulder briefly. 

"It's for your own good."  
Her footsteps echoed through the deserted mansion and disappeared into the distance. 

John just watched Cynthia get inside the carriage. Within a minute, the driver set the horses off and the carriage pulled out of the driveway, disappearing down the road.

\--

The colossal, sandy-stoned mansion was awash in pale moonlight, everything under the moon's watchful gaze stained silver. The gardens outside were silent and mysterious, trees sending deep shadows and shrouding the ground below in darkness. The entire manor was silent and sleeping, except for one; John. He laid awake and alert on his bed, still in his clothes from earlier on in the day, not having gotten changed into his bed clothes yet. The prince couldn't sleep at all. He tossed and turned, mind plagued with thoughts of his lover, wondering what he was doing, desperately needing to talk to him.

He had to tell Paul of his vision for their future. There wasn't any way he could keep it to himself any longer. He didn't care anymore whether Paul would want the same - he just had to get it out. 

Sitting up, his eyes trained on his bedroom door, narrowing with annoyance. He couldn't leave that way; Mimi had posted a maid outside his door who would catch him if he tried to sneak out in the night. And the guards were posted out the front as well - but what his aunt didn't know was that John learnt to climb the tall fence that surrounded their entire property. She probably thought John wouldn't try to climb it, or had never done it before. But she was wrong. 

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rose to his feet. He had to do this. His and Paul's relationship was at stake. Sucking in a deep breath, he gathered his sheets, spreading them out on the ground and tying them together to form a rope. He usually never would leave out the window since his room was on the second floor and it was a pretty hefty drop. _But I have to try,_ he told himself, gritting his teeth as he tied the last of the sheets together. 

The prince crept to his door, pressing an ear to it to see if the maid had heard anything. There was nothing except the sound of a page in a book being turned, so he hurried back and gathered the makeshift rope in his arms. 

_Here goes... let's just hope I don't die._ Letting out one last sigh, John dug his fingers underneath his window and slowly lifted it up, praying to whatever god that was up there that it wouldn't make a noise; thank god, it didn't seem to have alerted the maid, so he chucked the end of the rope through it until it was only a few metres from the ground,

"What's gonna hold my weight?.." He muttered under his breath, glancing quickly around his room. After spotting his bed, he reached and clasped the leg, dragging it along the (thank fuck) carpet, making little to no noise as he brought to the window. Grunting, he wiped the back of his hand across his brow before shoving the end of the sheet-rope under the leg. If it didn't hold his weight and fell... he shook himself. Worst case scenario is he'd break a shin or something. If he landed legs first, that is.

John lifted a leg over the windowsill and gripped the rope tightly, fear fluttering like a trapped bird in his chest as he brought over the other leg too. Checking below him to see if anyone was below, he began to shimmy his way down the rope. _I hope you know I'm risking my life for you, Paul._

Fortunately, the auburn-haired boy made it safely to the end of the rope. It hadn't been long enough to reach the bottom, but he was only about five metres above the prickly rose bushes below. _Shit, I don't wanna land in those bushes.._ he positioned his feet against the outside wall, ready to push off to avoid the bushes and land on the gravel path below. Taking in one last breath, he took his leap of faith..

"Fuck!" He hissed out loud when he landed on the path. He had landed on his feet but toppled to his knees, palms landing front-facing onto the gravel harshly. Staggering to his feet, he lifted his hands to inspect them. Blood seeped from small cuts that had a few shards of gravel embedded in them, but not enough to be actually concerning. One of the knee part of his pants had torn and his knee was grazed. He made a note to hide those trousers away so Mimi wouldn't find them and get suspicious. Wiping his hands on his trousers, John made a run for it across the gardens and to the side gates. 

He had to be fast - one of the staff could spot him outside. Thankfully, he made it with seemingly no repercussions and he scaled the fence easily, landing on the other side. He pulled his overcoat closer to himself and started to make his trek to Paul's place.

Where would Paul be when he got there? In bed in the single bedroom the McCartney family had, asleep? Out doing nighttime jobs on the farm? Maybe he was in the barn, waiting to see if John would come to see him. He hoped he wouldn't be in his bed. It would be really risky to wake him up while his father and brother were just inches away. 

When he made it, he snuck around the back and peered through the window situated on the left side - inside was their bedroom. The curtains were drawn, but there was a big enough gap for John to see that Paul was in bed. But he was sitting up! His back was turned to the window, so the older couldn't see what he was doing; but he was awake, thank god! John began to wave frantically, hissing Paul's name under his breath, trying his hardest to catch his attention. He couldn't be loud, he saw that Mike and Jim were asleep next to Paul. 

He tapped a finger lightly on the window, getting more and more frantic as seconds went by. He saw Paul's head lift up, glancing around until he was looking straight at John. His eyes went wide with terror for a second, but he relaxed when he recognised who it was.

"Paul!" He mouthed, gesturing for him to come over. "Hey!"

"John?" Paul mouthed back, lighting up and practically bursting with excitement as he got to his feet, closing the book that was on his lap, coming up to the window. His lover drew back the curtains and carefully opened the window, careful not to make noise.

"Hey! C'mon, I have to talk to ya! I snuck out me window for this. We gotta be quick." He whispered, moving aside to let Paul jump through the window. 

"It's so bloody good to see you!" Paul exclaimed quietly, shutting the window after him as John entwined their hands, dragging him away across the backyard to the barn, their signature meetup spot. 

"It's so good to see you too! Fuck, I missed you so much. I was such a mopey bastard when I was back home," John agreed with an embarrassed chuckle. The pair slipped silently through the doors, expertly quiet and discreet as they had learned to be over the months. 

As soon as they were alone, they were all over each other.  
Paul grabbed John and pulled him into a hug. They clutched onto each other for dear life, even though it'd only been two days; they knew an opportunity like this wouldn't come again for a long time at least, and their meetings would be far and few between. John breathed in Paul's scent of smoky vanilla. He smelt of lemons and strawberries too at that moment - he figured he had been out collecting them from their plantations. There was an underlying scent of beer, too. Comforting. He missed Paul's smell so much. 

When they finally pulled away, John cupped Paul's cheek and connected their lips. The younger melted into it quickly, savouring each other's lips with content sighs. A few seconds passed and they disconnected, resting their forehead's on the other, out of breath from their haste to be together. 

"I missed you," Paul grinned, gazing up at him through his lashes with flushed cheeks. John ran his thumb along his arched brow before carding it through his tousled ebony locks, smiling so hard his cheeks started to hurt.

"Missed you too."

They fell into a silence for a few seconds, just drinking in each other's presences, savouring the little time they had; it had to be broken, of course - John couldn't hang around for much longer. The longer he stayed, the more likely he would be caught out. And who knows what would happen then.

"I have to ask somethin' of you."

"What is it?" The younger gazed at him curiously. 

"It's... really serious. Okay? It's gonna be a lot. But I have to know if yer with me on this." He stared at his lover seriously, resting his hands on his shoulders and licking his lips nervously.

"John.. what do you mean?" Paul grew concerned, seeing how serious John really was. 

_I have to do it. C'mon, John..._ he drew in a breath, those life-changing words hanging on the edge of his tongue, ready to spill from his lips and create the stakes.

"Run away with me."

The dreaded silence fell. Paul stood there, processing the words for a moment, hands clutching John's waist; but within a second he pulled away, eyes widening and flashing with shock, fear embedded in the leafy irises as he backed away a few steps. He was staring at John like he had just grown three heads.

"Wh-what? Are you serious, John?"

"Yes! I really am, Paul," The older took a step towards him, gazing at him earnestly. Anxiety surged in his stomach at Paul's reaction, breath shallowing as he grew scared that Paul wasn't going to agree. _He probably thinks I've lost my damn mind._ "think! It's next to impossible for us to be together in our current situation. I'm about to get married and be crowned king, for fuck's sake! Every time we're together, we always have to constantly sneak around; I can't go anywhere without a disguise. Mimi's been keeping such a close watch on me now that I can't even leave the house! I just-" he cut himself off.

"I want to be with you. _Truly,_ be with you. Y'know, we have so much money than we know what to do with - I could steal a couple thousand, it would barely make a dent! We could go with George and Ringo too! Imagine it, Macca!" His eyes were alight with excitement, shining with all the prospects of their future. "_Paris!_ We could get a little flat to live in. Explore the country. I won't be recognised there! We could be free! Freer than we are now."

Paul was silent through the entirety of John's speech. But he didn't look scared anymore. He sat down on a bale of hay, expression unreadable as he took in everything his lover was saying.

"There's nothing left for me here anymore! You three are all I have now. We could come back, you could go and visit your family! It's not like we would never come back to Liverpool!" John knelt at Paul's feet, gazing up at him with such a raw hope that he almost drew back, feeling the full force of his emotions so strongly that it scared him a little. 

"I-I know it's insane-"

"It's totally fucking insane." Paul blinked.

"but do you see where I'm coming from? Don't you see how good it could be??" The older entwined their hands. "You could start doing piano work around Paris, and you could actually put your name out there! We could earn our own money! Our statuses wouldn't hold us back anymore."

"I.." Paul stared uselessly, mouth agape. "it's.."

"Are you with me, Paul?" John bit his lip, suddenly nervous; he had been so caught up with his fantasy he had lost all his fear, but it came flooding back when he saw how Paul was completely uncertain. "You.. you don't have to say yes yet. I understand how much I'm askin' of you. You have a family who love you, y'know? I've dwelled over it so much. Ringo and George too. I don't want to take you guys away from it if you don't want it."

"John.." Paul reached to link his hands around John's neck, gaze flashing with anxiety as he chewed on his own lip, thinking hard. 

"I'm sorry for springing this on you. I just.. don't have anything left here. Except for you guys." John's eyes fell to the floor, dark with sadness. "I understand if you don't want to."

"No, no-" The younger paused, sucking in a harsh breath. "I... I'm not saying no. But - I want to think about it. This is.. a really big thing. I'd be leaving Mike and da' behind, when they need me.." he reached to gently lift John's head up by his chin. "but it could really be fantastic. I can imagine it.. the four of us, the whole world at our feet. Being able to be together." He smiled.

"I know." John nodded, leaning in to kiss him briefly again. He only pulled away a few centimetres, stroking Paul's cheek comfortingly. "It's a lot to ask. But.. we could do it. We _could."_

"I'll be thinking about it, trust me." Paul smiled back.

"I have to go now, before anyone notices I'm gone... but promise to think on it?" John gazed at him intensely again, sparking with anxiety, feeling as if he shouldn't have said anything in the first place.

"Promise. Will you tell George and Ringo at some point?" The younger stood up, pulling John against his body as they prepare to say goodbye.

"I will, when I get the opportunity." The older nodded.

With that, they connected lips again, savouring each other's taste and gazing at each other, as if trying to commit it to memory, knowing that it would be very uncertain when they could be together again.

"Bye," Paul breathed. "I'll be waiting for you. I don't care how long. I'll wait for you."

"I won't be long." He smiled sorrowfully. 

Paul watched John disappear into the darkness of the night.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit im so sorry this is so fucking late lmao. just had doubts about this book and all that but!! this chapter helped give me inspo for it again. so aaHH hope yal enjoyed! we dont have too much left to go! thanks for reading,,, bye bye !! <33


	41. forty.

june 1859

Arid, yellowed grass tickled Paul's tanned skin as he laid on it, gazing up at the overhanging branches of the tree with its wide, shady leaves through half-lidded, tired eyes. Bees ambled lazily around the three people sweltering under the British summer heat, stopping occasionally to investigate the wildflowers before moving on. Patches of blazing sunlight managed to worm its way through the leaves and onto George, Ringo and Paul below; the ebony-haired boy squinted to drive a patch that had fell on his cheek out of his eyes. In the distance, he heard huffs from the horses lazing about in the shade and the bleating of sheep - sounds he'd been familiar all his life with. What would it be like to leave it all behind? To live in the city of Paris, to be away from the feel of grass under his feet, taking care of animals, tending to crops... being away from his family. Leaving them behind. He'd been reflecting on the idea for the past two weeks, almost three, since John had proposed the idea.

George and Ringo had learnt only a few days after Paul, and they were reluctant to go along with it at first. Ringo had thought the whole thing ridiculous; George was just terrified of leaving his parents and his life behind. It had been a while since then, though, and the few times they talked about it, it seemed the couple had been warming up to it more and more every time. They still hadn't confirmed with a definite 'yes' yet. 

The doe-eyed boy turned to look at his friends - George's head was rested in Ringo's lap, the latter carding his ring-adorned fingers through his lover's dark locks, sitting up against the tree trunk, both looking content, but sweating at the heat. Paul had been struggling on the farm to do the chores, trying to keep the animals cool and making sure the crops have enough water, and it seemed his stabbing scar had started giving him trouble after moving too much. It hadn't opened up, thank god, since it'd been too long since the incident and now it just gave him some pain every now and then, the muscles around it having stiffened. His friends had came to help out for a while that day, knowing that he'd need it. 

Juggling all the farm-work, their wood chopping job, and his own job at the pub playing piano, had really begun to take a toll on him. He felt like he had been worn out to a thread, barely registering what was being put in front of him, running on 4-5 hours of sleep every night, eyes sunken into dark rings and always bloodshot. He had been growing skinnier, more skinnier than he already had been all his life due to malnutrition and being overworked with little food. He could see the bones in his wrists, hands, and his ribs had grown even more visible than before. He didn't know how much more he could take before he dropped dead on his feet. The weather certainly wasn't kind, either - but it was better that it was summer than winter. The winters were cruel there, and due to not having sufficient clothing, they've been close to getting frostbite or very ill many times before. Actually, both winter and summer were equally horrible seasons to work in. He longed to at least get rid of one of them, preferably the wood chopping, but they needed every single last penny they could get their hands on. 

He could see his father was growing weaker with every day that went by, as well. Jim was already declining into old age, but his pride and the need for money stood in his way from retiring. The Asher's were co-owners of their farm, but they couldn't leave the entire thing to them. Paul wished Jim could step down, afraid that he was pushing himself to the edge to support his sons and would get sick or hurt. In the end, Mike or Paul would inherit the farm after him. And Paul knew now it would never be him. He had thought so before, but now..

"Paul, are you sure yer alright with yer scar? You don't want it to open up again, or somethin'." George blinked worriedly at his friend, reaching to poke his shoulder and get his attention.

"I'll be fine, George. It's not too bad, it's sealed over long ago. It just gives me pain sometimes, is all." Paul replied with a shrug. He sat up, brushing off the dead grass that had clung to his back before turning to face his body in his friend's direction. He had to tell them now what he had decided. 

"What's up, Paulie? I can tell you wanna say somethin'." Ringo blinked at him kindly. He always seemed to know what his friends were thinking.

"Right, well.." Paul started, licking his lips. He felt suddenly nervous. How would they react to his news? "I've decided I'm gonna do it."

"Do what?" George stared at him in confusion.

"Run away with John." Paul blinked, gaze casting to the floor, heart leaping anxiously. It felt so much different and terrifying now that it had been said out loud. He would be leaving Mike and his father all alone. It would be a long time before it would be safe for him to visit them again.

"What?" Ringo blinked, eyes wide and bright with shock. "Are you serious? Like, actually serious?"

"Yeah." Paul nodded, feeling determination rising in his chest. It's what he deserves. It's what him and John deserve. Somewhere where they can truly be together, as much as they could in this cruel world. He could see George opening his mouth to speak, so he cut in quickly before he could. "I've thought about it long and hard. I can't live in this life of secrecy anymore. It seems I'm fightin' for me life every single second, workin' three jobs just to put a measly fucking plate of potatoes on the table. I feel so overworked, tired, hungry all the time. I run on 3 hours of sleep a night and 2 or less meals a day. I've felt this way for all my life, I know - but it's time to put an end to it. I deserve to be happy with John. I want to be able to be with him. Our lives are too separate, too far apart, we won't be able to carry on in this situation. John's aunt has gotten increasingly suspicious, keepin' him locked in.. he's about to marry a girl he doesn't love and be crowned king, something he doesn't want. He deserves better than that. I want to run away with him." 

His friends gazed at him in a shocked silence, nothing being heard except for the continuous buzzing of bees and the occasional crisp call of a bird. George blinked and suddenly smiled as he came to terms with it.

"Wow. You're in love."

"What??" Paul spluttered, cheeks going red. In love?? Wh.. "N-no! I.." his voice died in his throat as he fought to speak, suddenly unable to do anything except bite his nails. Am I in love with John? 

"C'mon! Admit it to yerself. John's obviously way in love with you already." George rolled his eyes as if he expected him to know that already. Ringo just attempted to suppress a laugh by coughing.

"He is n-" Paul started indignantly, but quickly stopped. Was John in love with him? He tried to think back to the last time they saw each other, when John proposed they run away nearly 3 weeks before. The way his eyes sparkled with such loving affection when they embraced, how excited he was for their future plans as if he had decided on it long ago. The fact that he was even planning their future that far ahead!! His truly panicked, grief-stricken gaze when Paul had been close to dying. How he seemed willing to do anything for him, give him large amounts of money to save his brother when he got sick, ride a horse for the first time even though he was terrified, sneak out and risk his life just by coming to see him... he had bought a beautiful bracelet for him!!! And sometimes he had looked at Paul with such strong emotion, like he was the entire fucking world and that simply nothing else even existed, that it almost made him tear up. Fuck, John's in love with me.

"See, you've finally figured it out now." Ringo had noticed the look on his face and grinned down at him. "Bit of a shock, I know."

"Not really. John is a total fuckin' sap when it comes to Paul. Talkin' about him all the time, like "where's Paul?" and "do you think Paul would like a pet cat or dog when we get married?" it gets so annoying!!" George cackled, speaking in a high-pitched, nasal voice when pretending to be John.

"Hold on a second," Paul started with wide eyes, looking red as a tomato. "Did he actually say that last one?"

"Yeah, one time when we got drunk and you weren't there because you were working on the farm, and you couldn't drink yet because you were still healin' from the stabbing. He was cryin' and cryin' about how he missed you and wanted you there. It was so funny." 

"Oh my god!" Paul buried his head in his hands with a keening noise, feeling hot waves of embarrassment shoot through him. "I'll bloody kill him for being in love with me."

"No you won't! You'll just confess yer own love for him and vow to get married to him in secret and bear his children." Ringo teased.

"No! Shut up. Besides, how the hell can either of us bear children?" Paul huffed, crossing his arms in annoyance. Of course his friends would never let him hear the end of it now he knows John loves him, and he probably loves him back. God, even thinking of that sends a shiver up my spine, Paul thought, stomach exploding with butterflies. In love with a man! And a prince at that. Not something he could have predicted would happen in a million fucking years. 

"I'm sure you'd find a way," George wiggled his bushy brows, flashing his fang-like teeth in a grin, both him and Ringo dissolving into laughter after his little joke.

"C'mon, guys, seriously!" Paul punched them both on the arm with a glare. "I'm serious. I'm going to do it."

They both quieted down, realising the actual magnitude of the situation and they stared at their friends seriously. 

"That's okay, Paul. It's your life. You and John deserve to be happy together, in the end." Ringo's eyes glimmered sadly at the thought of seeing his two best friends leave them, and he pressed his lips tightly together as if trying to keep from crying. 

Suddenly George threw himself at Paul, holding him in a hug so tight that he thought his bones might snap in two. His friend buried his head in his shoulder with a sad noise.

"Don't leave me! I dunno what I'd do without you, Paul," He sounded so distressed that Paul felt his throat close up, choked with sentimental emotions. George and Paul had been friends for as long as they could remember, they had had such similar lives and the doe-eyed boy didn't know what he'd done if he had never met him. He'd certainly have never met Ringo nor John.

"So don't," Paul pulled away, excitement trilling through his veins at the prospect of the four of them living together. "come with us! It would be so good. We could be all together, we could have so much fun!" 

"I dunno if I can, though.." George fell short, fear sparking in his eyes. "how would we support ourselves? We don't even know French!"

"Did you forget that John's the prince of fuckin' Liverpool? The royal family has so much money, more than they know what to do with. He's gonna nick a few thousand, they won't even notice with how much they have already!" Paul grinned. "And John knows French, he was taught! I remember a few stuff meself from what me ma' taught me. We can teach ya!" 

"Really?" Ringo sounded doubtful, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. Could Paul actually convince them to come with them? "But I dunno if I can leave me parents like that."

"I know," Paul nodded solemnly. "we know it's a lot to ask, but.. please think about it. How truly great it could be."

"Okay," George agreed eventually. Ringo nodded, still looking mistrustful, but nothing more was said on it. "oh, and I can tell John that you've agreed to do it, when no one's lookin'."

"Thanks, Georgie." Paul smiled warmly at his friend, pulling both of them into a hug. "And you know I'd never leave you guys. Not really." 

"Anyways, enough sappy shit," Ringo pulled away from the hug, turning his head to furiously wipe a tear out of his eye. "I'm hungry. Let's go get chips, eh?"

"Chips!" George beamed, all previous sadness forgotten as he grinned hungrily at the thought of food. He leapt up, pulling both his friends to their feet. "Let's not stand about and wait for the grass to grow! C'mon!" He darted off, leaving the two other boys to watch him jump excitedly through the field like a child on Christmas day with a chuckle.

"Crazy wanker," Paul giggled, Ringo agreeing vehemently before running to join his lover, scooping him into his arms from behind. George let out a joyful screech, flailing in Ringo's surprisingly strong grip as he was thrown over the older's shoulder like a sack of rice.

"Put me down you prick!" He halfheartedly punched his back, but he was grinning so widely that it seemed his mouth would jump off his face.

Paul couldn't stop laughing all the way there, truly joyful for the first time since John's imprisonment. 

✧✧✧✧✧

John stared out the window with a despondent sigh. He was seated at the desk in the study, arms crossed over the wood and head resting on top of it. The desk was positioned to face the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the gardens, the velvet curtains drawn back to reveal the hot, sunny day outside. The gardens looked luscious as ever, but the grass was dryer than it usually was, and the tree's leaves had taken on a sun-bleached tinge. He felt incredibly bored. There was no one for him to hang out with now, not being able to leave nor being able to talk to Cynthia anymore. She had left a few weeks ago now, and they'd sent one letter to each other since then and now. It was basically John complaining about how bored he was and how he missed her and Paul and his friends and asking how she was, and she replied that she'd been swamped with family meet ups and gatherings and dealing with the marriage plans, but she felt sympathy for his loneliness, and hoped to get the chance to visit soon. That was the only time.

He felt there was nothing he could do anymore except plan the wedding, respond to letters, attend balls and engagements as a perfect role model for how the young rich people should act; it was exhausting, mentally draining, and even worse that he didn't have his one anchor of support with him anymore. Mimi had felt bad for all these parties they'd been going to and hosting and had seen how drained John was getting, so she let him off a few - but she had now idea how he truly felt. If she did, she'd do whatever she could to get him out of it. 

She loved him, but she was so narrow-minded, her ideals and morals so ingrained in her mind from the way she was raised that she couldn't begin to understand how anyone not in her own situation could feel. It hurt that he couldn't be honest with her. He wished, oh so wished, that he could tell her about Paul. How much he loved him. How wonderful of a person he truly was, how to make her see that life wasn't just about following in your family's footsteps, getting married to the opposite sex, and having children.

Sitting up, he tapped a finger against the desk with yet another sigh. Standing up, he turned away from his view of the gardens and went to sit at the piano in the middle of the room. The sleek black wood was lit up with streaks of sunlight that streamed through the window and onto the waxed wooden floors. Lifting his hands up to the ivory keys, he played a tentative note. It had been a while since he had played any piano. 

After a few experimental chords, he slowly morphed into playing Beethoven's sonata no.8 in C minor, something he'd been taught by Mimi as a child, it being ingrained in his mind at this point. His fingers glided across the keys effortlessly as he remembered how the song went, eyes falling shut as he lost himself in the music. Memories of all the times he played piano in the past came to mind, and he wished he had pursued it more, but he had lost interest when he entered his teens. 

He had been so intent on his playing that he hadn't heard anyone come up behind him until there was a tap on his shoulder - he jumped in fright, the song cutting off abruptly as he turned to see who it was. When he saw George staring back at him, amused smirk playing on his lips from scaring his friend, he relaxed in relief.

"Ha! Scared ya, sucker."

"Shut up. Thanks for sneakin' up on me like that," John glared, irritation rising in his chest for a moment before it ebbed, just happy to finally have a moment alone with his friend. "I'm glad to see you. I'm so bloody bored, I've resorted to playin' depressin' songs on the piano."

"I can see that," George commented with a chuckle, jumping up to sit on the top of the piano, legs swinging back and forth. "Hung out with yer husband yesterday, and guess what he tolds me?"

"He's not my husband." John rolled his eyes, standing up to go sit on the much more comfortable couch, arms crossed over his lap. "And what?"

"He's in on it." George smiled at him. "The running away thing." 

John's heart leapt and his mouth gaped like a fish. "Shit, you serious?" Excitement and joy began to flood his veins. Paul wanted to run away with him! 

"Yeah, duh. I'd be a total tosser if I was fuckin' with ya." George raised an eyebrow.

"That's so good! Thank god, I was terrified he'd not want to," John sighed in utter relief, suddenly elated. It would mean George and Ringo were more likely to agree as well! He was on the way to actually doing this. He remembered something as well, all of a sudden. "It's Paul's birthday soon, isn't it?"

"Yeah, on the eighteenth." George confirmed. "You should totally sneak out so we can celebrate."

"I will, don't worry. The ol' kid's turnin' seventeen! I remember my seventeenth." John grinned, thoughts of what to get Paul as a present whirling through his brain. What could he get him?

"Yeah, 'cause yer old!" George snickered, making John throw a couch pillow at him. 

"So respect yer elders!"

"Alright, I'll push yer wheelchair for ya." 

"You little shit-" John laughed, picking up the pillow and hitting it repeatedly on his head, George laughing his arse off trying to defend himself, snatching the pillow off him to hit him back. They fought for a few moments more before stopping, out of breath and giggling like little boys again.

"Sorry, John - I gotta go back to work. If anyone catches me here, they'll dob straight in." George grew sad he had to leave his friend, and the two shared a brief hug before he made his way to the door.

"Okay. See you later, George, eh?" 

"Yeah, see ya." The younger boy opened the door and promptly shut it after him, his hurried footsteps disappearing down the hallway. 

Now that John was alone again, he felt more lonely than ever. But at least he got that little stolen moment of happiness; it seemed the world was on his side for that day. Taking off his jacket and shoes until he was just in trousers, a shirt, and an undone vest, he left the study and went down the stairs to the back gardens, deciding to take a walk in the sunshine. It was too hot for a jacket or anything, and he relished the feeling of the grass under his bare feet. The only thing keeping him sane right now - the gardens. 

He noticed the gardeners hard at work, some sending a few polite hellos his way as he went past. He suddenly wished he could have a pet running around his feet with him, but he knew Mimi would never allow such thing as an animal in the manor. 

He was wandering aimlessly among the fields of flowers and plants, brushing a hand along a bed of tulips as he went, enjoying the hot sun beating down on his neck, warming him up from the cold, empty manor. Before he knew it, he had arrived at a certain spot under an ancient oak tree, its branches gnarled and twisted with age, but leafy as ever as it stretched over Julia's grave. 

He stood over the grave, a dismal wave of unhappiness surging in his chest, curling around his heart like a claw. It was a white marble tombstone with a fence around it made of the same material. The flowers he had placed last week at the foot of the grave was still there. 

"What do I do, Julia?" He whispered, kneeling down and tracing the edge of the fence before letting his hands drop to his sides. "I love Paul. I need to be with him as much as possible. I can't take anymore of this life... it would be so much better with you here."

There was never any response whenever he talked to her, but it comforted him to pretend that maybe, she was watching over him. She was always so understanding and kind, always sympathising with his problems and giving sage advice. He knew she'd say 'follow your heart' or something sappy like that, and it was exactly what he was going to do. 

He slowly sat down, scooting up to lean against the trunk of the tree beside her, resting his head against the wood. He stayed there until the sun sunk into the ground below.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry this isnt like so action packed aGG i just needed to like show the time gone past and a few other things, so yeee!! hope u guys enjoyed this ,, bye bye<333 i love u all so so much ty for reading <333


	42. forty one.

june 1859

"Happy birthday, Macca!"

"Oh!" The three boys were greeted with a shocked gasp as the front door was opened. Standing in front of them, dressed in just a t-shirt and overalls with bare feet, was Paul; his languid eyes were stretched wide in surprise at seeing his three friends standing on his doorstep, glittering with pleasure as his lips quirked up into a wide smile. Shit, he's so cute.. John almost sighed out loud with some type of lovesick air that would make even George and Ringo cringe. Even after almost two months, Paul could still send his heart racing. He hated it, but relished it at the same time. I missed him so much.

"Surprise!" George beamed, holding out a vaguely rectangular-shaped thing - abhorrently wrapped in old newspaper - in front of his long time friend, who stared down at it with an amused huff, eventually taking it from his hands and inspecting it carefully.

"Present-wrappin' just as bad as last year, eh Geo?" He commented as he stepped aside, gesturing to the hallway inside for them to come in. "Get in, the lot of you."

"Hey! Not my fault me hands aren't so nimble!" George protested as they all squeezed through the doorway; John glanced up and noticed the white paint was diminishing away and some of the wood had been torn off around the edges. Lowering his head, he stared around at the house he had become so familiar with over the weeks. Obviously nothing had changed since he had last seen it, which was back in May. The days had blurred into another and it was already the middle of June. It scared him - the wedding was six months away now. But, he wasn't here to dwell on those facts.. it was seeing Paul again after such a long while. And he knew now that he was willing to run away with him.. it made his heart soar so high he felt as if he could never come down, feeling his stomach lurch with butterflies and his brain to buzz with delight and infatuation.

"Earth to John? Helloooo?" His lover's voice brought him back to reality, and he turned to see him gazing at him with a shy smile, eyes glittering affectionately towards him but with a flash of nervousness. It was so adorable, it was all John could do not to throw himself at him and declare his love for all the world to know.

"Paul," John started, sucking in a breath. Immediately he was pulled into a hug and he breathed in Paul's familiar smell, holding onto him tightly and burying his head into his shoulder with a content sigh.  
"Missed you." Paul squeezed him once more before pulling away, only enough so they could look each other in the eyes; John took the initiative and connected their lips, relishing the taste after being deprived of it for weeks. He lifted a hand to cup the younger's cheek, feeling like everything around him was falling away..

"Ahem?" Ringo cleared his throat and they broke apart, having been too lost in their affectionate reunion to notice their two friends staring at them, amusement alight in their gazes. Once they quickly let go of each other, John ducked his head, cheeks burning with embarrassment while Paul rubbed the back of his neck shyly.

"You two seem happy to see each other again." George snickered.

"Like you two are any better," John rolled his eyes.

"Anyways! Let's go to the lounge. Jim and Mike are out today an' won't be back 'til tonight." Paul decided to change the subject quickly, grabbing John's hand and leading him through the front hallway to the kitchen; Ringo and George trailed behind, giggling to themselves at their friend's expense. John held the carefully-wrapped present he had for Paul more securely in his hands, glancing down at it with a fond smile. He knew Paul would definitely like it very much. He would never tell him how much it actually cost (it was a lot), and how it was actually quite hard for him to find, but Paul would probably understand anyway. He was more perceptive of John's feelings and actions than he let on.

"Did all three of you get me presents?" Paul stared at them in dismay, but his eyes glittered with a secret happiness when he saw all three of them had their own things. "You really didn't have to-"

"Oh, shut it, Paul! Seventeen is a big year. Just let us get ye things sometimes." George rolled his eyes with a nudge to his arm, sitting in a circle on the floor; the tattered carpet was caked with dust and weird stains, and John swept away some of it with his hand before sitting down. He wasn't used to such dirty things, he'd admit it. It was just built into his psyche from his upbringing to detest it. He was becoming more accustomed as he spent time with his poorer friends, but it still got to him sometimes. He hated how it did.

"God, yer such a priss, John!" Paul teased, having noticed his nose scrunch up at the carpet that had probably laid on that floor for centuries at that point.

"I'm not! I just.." John protested feebly. "I can't help it, okay?!" 

Nothing was said, instead his three friends exchanging a look before bursting into raucous laughter.

"Pack it, will ya?" He groaned.

"It's so funny! I remember one time I offered him an apple that was a few days old and he looked at it like I had just offered curdled milk!" George chortled, clutching onto his stomach. "He still took it but when he bit into it his face scrunched like he had just sucked on a lemon! It's hilarious."

"Oh my god!! I remember I was eating some leftover soup and he was like "you're really.. eatin' it?"" Paul giggled. "He was so genuinely confused, it was adorable!"

"Are you guys done makin' fun of me?" He huffed, resting his head on his hand. "It's not my fault I'm used to.. y'know." His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he wished he had just sucked it up and sat down on the carpet - that was perfectly fine - so they wouldn't poke fun at him.

"Come on! Don't take it so hard, eh?" Ringo flicked his cheek with a snicker, John batting him away with a barely-suppressed smile. "We're allowed to make fun of it sometimes, 'cause it is a little funny. You gotta admit it."

"Fine!" John sighed.

"Let's open the presents now!" George lit up, Paul following suit with an excited grin as he was handed John and Ringo's presents, already having George's in his lap. "I bet mine is gonna be the best!"

"No, mine is!" John glared at his friend - not without an amused glint in his eye. His would obviously be the best, it was an actual musical instrument and had his initials carved into it!

"Is not!" George shot back with a grin, revealing his sharp canines.

"Is too!"

"Guys!" Paul giggled, holding up his hands to silence them. "Let me open them, will ya? I'll decide for meself." With that, the three waited, smiling excitedly as he took Ringo's first. It was a large basket that had a lid placed on it. Paul lifted it to reveal what was inside, pulling them out as he went. There were two books; A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens and The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins - and a jar each of fresh strawberry and apricot jam, and a pair of large brown leather boots with heels that were a few centimetres in height.

"Shit! These are so good!" Paul exclaimed with a wide grin, looking terribly excited as he looked over the items, beginning to undo the new shoes to pull them on. "I haven't gotten new shoes in so long. Thanks, Ringo, honestly!"

"I know you struggle with readin' books," Ringo smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. "but I thought it'd be good practice to give ye some. Charles Dickens is pretty good."

"I love readin'! Even if I can't really read.." Paul shrugged, standing up and looking down at the boots; they reached up to his mid-shin.

"Fashionable!" John commented. "They suit you."

"I know, right? All the ladies will be swoonin' for me in the street." Paul jokingly posed with a hand on his hip and the other behind his head, making a stupid face, George giggling at his antics.

John coughed loudly, piercing him with a look - Paul stopped and knelt down to kiss him on the cheek with a fond smile, running a hand through his fluffy auburn hair.

"Kiddin'. You own my heart."

"Bleugh!" George pretended to stick a finger down his throat and throw up, making John chuck one of the books at his face. He recoiled with a yelp, managing to block the attack at the last moment. "Hey!"

"Serves you right." He grinned slyly.

"Open George's now!" Ringo suggested, pushing his badly-wrapped present across the floor to Paul. The doe-eyed boy sat down next to John, their shoulders brushing as he reached to grasp it.

"Yeah! Open mine!" George brightened, watching eagerly as Paul began to peel the crumpled paper away. Inside were two ink pens for drawing, and a bottle of black ink, along with some purple ink - and a little box that had various oil pastels.

"Oh, wow! This must've cost you a fortune, Geo! Thank you so much!" Paul examined the pens with a grin.

"It's fine," George shrugged it off. "in case you want to do drawings and stuff, ya know?"

"Drawing is fun, I do like to do it sometimes." Paul agreed. "Never used oil pastels before, should be fun!" With that, he gently placed the stuff aside with Ringo's before picking up John's.

The present John had gotten was wrapped with cream paper and tied with white string, and the paper was littered with little sketches of funny faces that he always liked to do. Paul's eyes glittered adoringly at the drawings, always having loved John's drawings. The prince found out recently that he had kept all the sketches he had ever given him, keeping them carefully stacked in a drawer. It made his stomach burst with butterflies to think that Paul enjoyed his drawings.

"I love those drawings you do, John!" George spoke up, peering at the present. "They're so cool."

"Thanks," John felt abashed at the praise.

Finally, after a few seconds, Paul began pulling apart the wrapping with delicate fingers. Paul gaped at what was inside, both George and Ringo letting out awed gasps as the raven-haired boy held it in his hands to examine it.

"A harmonica.." Paul's eyes were wide and he held up the instrument. It had a sleek silver body, twinkling in the afternoon sun and untouched by rust or wear. On the top - J. P. M. was engraved in gold-painted letters. "John, how on earth did you get this?" He finally lifted his head to stare at him in complete astonishment, still shocked that it actually belonged to him, turning it over and over in his palms as if he was wondering whether it was real.

"Well, y'know.. went to the right places." John shrugged, smiling shyly at his lover. "I really hope you enjoy it.. it's a good instrument and I think you'd be good at it. Just sayin'."

"It's bloody engraved with my name!" His expression slowly morphed from shock to excitement and happiness and he turned back to look at John with the biggest grin he'd ever seen. "You didn't have to get me somethin' like this.."

"'Course I will!" The auburn-haired boy let himself smile as well, wrapping an arm around his back as he traced the edge of the instrument with his other hand. "You deserve it."

"Thank you so much, John.. I dunno how to repay you," He blinked his leafy eyes that glittered like green-brown suns at him and it sent his heart racing all over again. "All of you." He turned his gaze on the rest of his friends around him.

"It's okay, Paul. Yer a good friend, you deserve it." Ringo smiled kindly at him.

"Thanks," Paul blinked shyly.

"Let's go eat! I'm hungry as hell." George piped up, excited at the prospect of eating.

"Yes! Da' gave me a little spendin' money. Who's up fer steak and chips?" Paul immediately shot to his feet, holding out a hand to help John up while George and Ringo already began to make for the door.

"YES!" George whooped, pumping a fist in the air; Paul and John bundled out of the front door as quickly as possible to catch up to the other two, who were already down the road at this point.

The sun was already beginning to sink below the horizon of the ash-coloured city, staining the sky with streaks of blood-red scarlet, spilling its deep orange rays to the dirt road at their feet. The McCartney/Asher residence stood upon a hill surrounded by a forest that swelled along the left side with expanses of long-grassed fields on the other. The road trailed down a gently sloping hill with springy, coarse grass, dotted with occasional shrubs and lone trees - below them the landscape changed from farmland to tar roads and brick-concrete buildings. At the very edge of the horizon, the docks edged the river Mersey. It was a lovely sight, and John always enjoyed it when he went to Paul's place; there were a few more houses that dotted the country expanse that were close enough to his lover's place that they were considered neighbours. George lived closest to Paul out of them all, just on the outskirts of the main cluster of the poor sector of the city; with unfinished roads, untamed fauna and decaying houses.

He felt such a strong connection to Liverpool, it being where he grew up of course. It felt wrong, almost, to leave it all behind.. but it had to be done. He couldn't be in his situation any longer than he could manage. Paul had to leave it too; he felt terrible that he was pulling him away from his life, but it seemed he was on board. If he didn't want to do it, John would be in full support. But he had agreed to it now, and he wouldn't deny how truly happy it made him.

"I'll make sure you won't regret it, y'know." The words came out before he could stop himself; Paul looked up from where he was walking next to him, gazing at him intently.

"Regret what?"

"Runnin' away with me," John tentatively entwined their hands, giving his a brief squeeze before letting go. They were in public, after all, and had to abstain from their affections for the time being before they got inside closed doors. "I'll do everythin' I can to make sure you don't regret it. I promise."

Paul was silent for a few moments, gaze clouding with emotion as he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, turning to look at the road in front of him. John felt awkward for a moment, worried that he overstepped something by bringing it up, but Paul turned back to look at him, small smile on his face and somewhat of a twinkling challenge in his eyes.

"I'll hold you to that." His tone was joking, but John knew he would do everything he could to fulfil it.

"Hey guys! Hurry up or we'll be walking all damn day!" George called over his shoulder, him and Ringo a few metres in front. The latter was walking backwards in front of the bushy-browed boy, hands in his pockets.

"Race you all to the pub, eh?" John challenged them with a growing smirk, not giving anyone any time before he was already off; he heard thundering footsteps behind him, gaining traction as they fought to catch up to him.

"Hey! You gave yerself a head start, tosser!" Paul protested.

"Too bad! Catch up to me!" John shot over his shoulder as he sped through the streets, grinning wildly. The four of them tore through the streets, garnering looks from passersby, but of course - it never affected them.

It turns out George was the winner of the race, Paul second and Ringo third, John unfortunately last; the fact that he had a head start didn't actually help out in the end. They bustled into the pub, laughing to themselves, welcomed by the raucous chattering and blast of warmth that was familiar to a pub. It was relatively packed, but more and more people trickled in as the night fell upon them, slowly getting more and more swamped with people. The four managed to snag a four-seater table by the windows and settled into their spots comfortably.

"What do you guys want?" Paul asked, standing next to the table as he took out his money, not sitting down with them yet.

"Scotch and coke," John spoke up. "and fish and chips."

"Beer, and also fish and chips for me." Ringo rubbed his hands together with a grin at the thought of food, making George giggle.

"Beer for me, and steak and chips. I'm so hungry I could eat the entire menu," The youngest of the group decided.

"You're always bloody hungry, George. You'd eat the entire amount of cows in Liverpool and not even gain a kilo." John snickered.

"I'm not gonna deny that!" George shrugged. "It's my special power."

"'Kay, be back in a moment," Paul nodded, turning and disappearing through the crowd to the bar to order their drinks and food; John watched him go, fingers tapping on the table impatiently. After raking his gaze through the mass of people around them, he almost sighed out loud in relief when he didn't spot any of that gang that they fought a few months ago. Ever since that incident, the group always were on high alert if they ever went to the pubs in that particular area. Luckily, there hadn't been any more skirmishes since then, and John didn't want to get into any fights for a long time yet. Their last one ended much worse than intended.

"Oi! Someone come help me." He heard footsteps coming closer, and looked up to see Paul carrying all four drinks haphazardly in his arms, looking as if he was about to drop them all. Quickly, John got to his feet and took two of the drinks from him, putting down George and Ringo's beer's in front of them, sitting back down. Paul squeezed into his spot next to him, pressing their thighs up against each other and placing John's scotch and coke in front of him.

"Hell yeah!" George tilted his head back and downed a third of his drink, letting out a loud burp and wiping his lips afterwards, lifting up his mug in front of them all. "To Paul's seventeenth."

"To Paul's seventeenth!" Ringo and John chorused, clinking their drinks together simultaneously before eagerly sipping at their own. Paul chuckled at his friends, smiling warmly, relaxing into his seat and sneakily wrapping an arm around John's hips, tucked in behind their table far enough so no one would see. God, how I missed his smile.. John thought with a sigh, gazing at him, grinning fondly. I'm glad I managed to get away so I could be here for his birthday.

The moon was suspended halfway through the sky by the time the four friends had left the pub, filled up on booze and oily food. A crisp breeze tickled John's flushed cheeks, gazing up at the starless sky above through hazy, drink-addled eyes. Letting out an uncivilised burp (knowing that it would appal Mimi made him mischievously happy) with a lazy grin, the prince lowered his head to look back at Paul beside him, reaching to entwine their fingers before trudging after George and Ringo. He was drunk enough to have a bit of trouble walking in a straight line or filtering his words (not that he had much of one in the first place) but nothing more extreme. He wanted to remember that night. Remember how Paul's hair was stained silver under the moonlight, rounded eyes even more droopy than usual, looking at ease and perfectly content. It was amazing how a few beers could alter his perceptions like that. He always saw Paul in that light no matter what, but now he actually had no inhibitions to acting on it or vocalising his feelings. 

"I think I gained 10 kilos," Paul groaned, a hand subconsciously tracing his stomach. The boy stopped and stretched, shaking his hand about with a disgruntled expression. "and I was sittin' on me hand and now I can't feel it."

"Guu-uys! Yer takin' forever!" George hollered over his shoulder before John could speak. "I wanna get home before we get jumped or some shit."

'We ain't gonna get jumped, Geo, jeez." Ringo furrowed his brow with a confused chuckle.

"Shut up! Just let us stop for a mo'," John glared at him, wrapping an arm around Paul's shoulder, aggression melting away as soon as he turned and looked at him. "you okay? Need a piggyback?" 

"No, n-no!" Paul shook his head. His actions said otherwise, however, as he wrapped his arms around John's neck expectantly, ready to drape his legs around his waist. Of course, John being the good boyfriend he was, he gripped behind Paul's knees and hoisted him onto his back comfortably, the younger hanging onto him like a koala as the prince hurried to catch up with their friends. 

"Aww!" George mock-gaped at seeing Paul being piggybacked like John and turned to Ringo with a pout. "Why don't you carry me like that?"

"'kay, I will. Hop on." Ringo rolled his eyes and turned and leant down so he could jump up.

"Yay!" George clapped his hands happily and jumped on, folding his arms and legs around him and burying his head in his shoulder, grinning. Ringo let out a grunt as he took the weight, pretending to stagger and tremble his knees. 

"You're so heavy, George! I'm gonna crumble under this weight!" He strained his voice as if he was using all his energy to carry the younger, even though he was lighter than Paul, even. Paul dissolved into giggles and John tried his best not to chuckle at them himself.

"Hey! I'm not heavy!" George whacked his shoulder with a petulant glare, but his dark eyes glittered with amusement.

"Kidding, babe, don't worry." Ringo tilted his head to look at him as the four strode on, glancing around to make sure no one was watching before the two shared a kiss. John watched on with a half-smile. This is where he was meant to be; with his friends and Paul. That was all he felt he needed.

The four of them had decided on the way to crash at Ringo's place, since Jim and Mike would be back by then (Paul didn't want to face his father's disapproval at seeing them all drunk), and they stumbled into the empty house with hushed laughter. John placed Paul down on the sleek wooden floor as gently as he could, and he felt soft butterfly kisses on the back of his neck, Paul's hands travelling to his stomach. It sent a delighted shiver down his spine - maybe they'd be doing more than just sleeping that night. 

"I'm so tired, I'm just gonna sleep-" Ringo opened his mouth in a yawn, but he was suddenly cut off when George stuck a finger into his mouth, making him splutter and push him away halfheartedly and glare at him, struggling not to smile. "You two-" he turned to his two friends, pointing to the stairs. "the spare bedroom is upstairs across from my room. You know where that is," He began to walk down the hallway and through the kitchen. Paul was practically all over John at this point, and it was getting harder and harder to focus on anything else.

"Where you goin'?" George called after him.

"Takin' a piss. Go up to me room if you want, Georgie."

"'kay, see you guys la-" The youngest of the group had turned to say goodbye to John and Paul, but fell short as the two zipped past him, stumbling up the stairs in their drunken hurry to get to their room. 

"Bye!" John called over his shoulder, giggling in shock as Paul gripped onto his thigh, the younger grinning into his neck. "Jeez, steady on, Macca.." He promptly opened the room and Paul gripped into his arm and pulled him into it, slamming the door after him.

"John?" Paul's quiet voice sounded next to his ear, husky with their session that occurred half an hour or so before. John adjusted his position of lying on his side, wrapped up in the tousled covers, pulling the younger's arms tighter around his bare stomach. Paul's face was buried in the crook of his neck and his chest was pressed up against his back, pressing lazy kisses to his shoulder every now and again, warm breath billowing against the pale skin. 

"Mm..yeah?" The auburn-haired boy let his eyes flutter shut, comforted by the rhythmic breathing of his lover. He felt exhaustion begin to threaten to drag him into its unconscious depths, but fought to stay at the surface to hear what the younger had to say.

"Thank you for comin' to see me today. I'm so glad I got to spend me birthday... with you. This has been my best birthday ever so far." 

He didn't reply for a few seconds, just tracing his hands down Paul's arms and gently interlocking their fingers together, relishing the heat radiating off of him.

"I'm glad too. I missed you so much." John couldn't help but smile. "This has been a good day."

"It has," Paul agreed. John could hear the tired lilt in his voice, and he knew he was about to slip into sleep. "night, Johnny." The younger's breath evened out with each passing second, and John listened until he knew Paul was fast asleep. He had to say the words that had plagued his thoughts every day since his realisation, even if the person in question wouldn't hear them yet. 

"I love you, Macca. More than you could ever know."

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY YAL I FJJFJFFJWEWD THIS CAME OUT SO LATE im so sorry omg for the longass delay i fell into a bad place lik worse than usual and i couldnt do anything for a week or two so mmmmm anwyays IM getting better !!! i finally got this out so that means something good lol. AHHH anyways enjoy this chapter! again sorry for the longass delay aahh fuck i feel rly bad. anyways ty for reading !! aND AHH OVER 200 KUDOS!! ty so much <333 i promise to update regularly again! bye bye gamers jfdbjfvjk


	43. forty two.

june 1859

The soft cotton of his shirt brushed his skin as he slipped it on, doing up the buttons with tired fingers as he sat down on the bed below. The wooden floorboarding was cold under his bare feet, and he scooted back on the mattress to lift his feet off of it; it groaned under the movement, and John quickly turned to see if he had woken up yet. Seeing Paul's tousled head of dark hair poking out from under the blankets - that had been pulled up to his chin - still unmoving, the prince let out a sigh of relief. As he finished buttoning up his shirt, he pulled on his suspenders and tie before swiftly putting on his vest. He didn't really bother to do it all up perfectly, leaving the vest undone and tie loose around his neck before he pulled on his socks and slipped his feet into his shoes.

Once he knew his feet would not be harmed by the cold floors of Ringo's spare bedroom, he let them sink back onto the wood and lift him off the bed. As he stood, he held up a hand to his aching head, the remnants of last night's drunken endeavours remaining within a hangover and bruised hips. Creeping along the floor as softly as he could, the boy made his way from his own side of the bed to Paul's, sitting down by his lover's sleeping figure and gazing down at him tenderly.

The younger snored away, face half-buried in the pillow; the blankets had indeed been pulled up past his chin, only allowing his face from the nose-up to be visible. His dark lashes rested on his freckled cheeks flawlessly, as always, and John couldn't resist letting a sigh escape from his lips, reaching out with a tentative hand to ghost the boy's cheek, feeling stray hairs tickle his fingertips. He looked the most innocent when he was sleeping, John noted. All his mental barriers and facades he put up while conscious stripped away, leaving just the most raw version of the boy he loved so dearly.

Not an hour goes by that he doesn't think of Paul. He couldn't imagine a life without him now, wondering how he even got through eighteen years of his life without seeing his face gazing up at him; his deep, rich voice with its scouse twangs echoing through his mind and his affectionate laughter making him melt into a puddle of love every single time. It had been only months since they got together, but it felt like so much had happened since then, and they grew closer with each passing second spent together. And to think Paul despised him so strongly at first sight, and now they could barely spend more than a few days apart.

He wished he could just sink back under the covers, embrace the insistent yearnings of sleep and wrap his arms around Paul's warm, smooth skin and bury his head in his shoulder, wreathed in the scent of vanilla smoke laced with sweat.   
But, he had to get back to the manor before Mimi - or any of the servants - noticed his absence, since he was supposed to be still locked up in his room as punishment for running off and being with his lower class friends too often.   
He had no idea how much longer it would go on; he hoped it would end in the next week or so. John didn't know how much more he could take of it, only able to sneak away once every few weeks without being caught. The entirety of the staff were watching his every move, and he could no longer sneak out as often as he usually did. He had been able to get away only twice during the entire time he had been locked up. He didn't know what would happen to him if he was caught.

Standing up, he gazed down at Paul one last time. He felt bad that he had to leave him so soon, but he didn't want to wake him when he was sure to have a bad hangover, and he couldn't wait any longer than he already had. Leaning down, he pressed a butterfly kiss to his lover's forehead with a fond smile, letting his fingertips brush away a strand of raven hair our of Paul's eyes before straightening.

"See you soon, my love." With that, he turned and picked his coat up from the floor, slipping it on and buttoning it up over his body to protect from the early morning cold; once he had done so, John opened the door and looked back at Paul's sleeping figure one last time before closing it after him, his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway as he made his way to the stairs, descending as quietly as he could - it seemed he was unsuccessful, however, as he heard a quiet thump and a floorboard creak behind him before a soft voice called his name;

"John?"

He turned around to see who it was - Ringo stood there at the top of the stairs, shirtless with his arms wrapped around himself, shivering a little at the cold. His bleary blue eyes gazed at John, looking slightly unfocused, and he reached up to itch at his ruffled hair that was sticking up in every direction.

"Hey. Go back to bed, Rings. I'm just goin' home." John flashed a small smile in his direction, shoving his hands in his pockets as he gazed up at his friend from the bottom of the stairs.

"Okay. Did you wake Paul?"

"No, he looked far too peaceful. He'll know why I had to leave early, though."

Ringo blinked at him sadly, hurrying down the stairs before pulling his best friend into a hug. John hugged him back tightly before they pulled apart.

"Do you know when you can come see us again?"

"Not really," John shrugged, sighing defeatedly. "I'll definitely try to get away again to hang out with you guys. It's been a rough few weeks without you three."

"We miss you, too," Ringo pressed his lips together. "well, hopefully this'll all be over soon, yeah?"

"Yeah. I'll try and suck up to Mimi as much as I can if it'll get me off quicker. See you later, Rings." John nodded, feeling sadness wash over him like a wave, closing up his throat and pressing down on his chest with a surprising strength. He had to leave his friends again for god knows how long and be stuck by himself, longing to see them and staring out the window like a princess trapped in a tower.

"Bye, John! Safe travels." Ringo called after him as he opened the front door, leaving the warmth of the Starkey residence and entering the streets. An icy wind jostled him back and forth and he pulled up the folds to shield his face. There were people walking about, and he didn't want to be recognised as he didn't have a disguise that day. The memories of last night were hazy, but he had a pretty solid idea of what went down. He was pretty sure he was in the clear, anyway - it seemed nothing crazy had happened, since he would have remembered it. He hadn't gotten that drunk.

Picking up the pace, the prince began his trek to his prison under the rising sun. 

✧✧✧✧✧

"Hurry up, John! We're going to be late."   
Mimi's irritated voice called from the ground floor; John groaned internally as he hopped up and down on one leg, trying his best to force his leg into his pants as quickly as he could manage.

"Coming!" He yelled over his shoulder. Eventually, he managed to get his foot through the pant leg and he pulled up the expensive trousers, doing them up as quickly as he could before slipping a belt through its loops to make sure it didn't sag. The family was off to some sort of social event - John didn't even know what it was for - and he had only just got home in time to find out and have a bath before dressing (he still stunk of alcohol and sweat, but luckily Mimi didn't notice in her rushed state). It was absolutely the last thing he wanted to do while hungover, but he had gotten used to rolling with the punches at that point. It was worth the hangover if he had gotten to be with his friends again.

Finally, he finished the outfit as he pulled on his sleek black dress shoes; he was about to do them up before there was a knock on the door. He almost growled out loud, thinking it was Mimi, but he just glared at the floor before answering.

"Yes? Come in."

It was one of the butlers; the man dipped his head towards him, hands behind his back.

"I've come to make final adjustments to your attire, sir. The carriage is leaving soon."

"Yes, yes, thank you," John stood up, brushing off his front before gesturing the butler to go ahead. He was used to the butlers and waitresses doing things like that for him, tying his shoes or picking out his outfit - he was always one to refuse their assistance and do it mostly himself, but he was just so tired and worn out that he was fine with the butler finishing the last touches. The man tied up his shoes neatly, smoothing out the ends of his deep purple trousers and adjusting the necktie and the frilled neck of his pure white shirt. The butler buttoned up the waistcoat and the cufflinks before stepping away.

"All done, your majesty."

"Thank you, Charles." John held his hands behind his back, sending a respectful nod the servants' way as the man bowed and left the room.

Sighing again, he stepped up to his full-length mirror to check himself out. The purple suit looked decent in him, but he found he always looked best in green. Good enough, he thought as he fiddled with his sleeves; once he turned away from the mirror, he picked his top hat off of his bed where it had been set down and slipped it on, adjusting his glasses as well before leaving his room.

Outside, Mimi was down in the foyer, looking a tad distressed (more than she usually would) while the servants traipsed back and forth to get the last few things organised. He wanted to ask what kind of event it was that they were going to, but he knew Mimi would get upset at him for not knowing what they were doing. John figured it was either A: some sort of wedding-slash-engagement celebration, B: opening of some sort of important building, or C: Dinner party to make 'social connections'.   
All of them sounded equally boring and mentally draining to him, but he knew he had to just suck it up and get it over with. It was worth it in the end, when him and Paul would run away together. It was still a bit of a problematic situation, as obviously the best thing would be for George and Ringo to come as well, but since that wasn't really decided, they would have to think on it a bit more. The thought of leaving them was terrifying, but if they weren't willing to come with them, then maybe they'd have to go on alone.

"John! For goodnesses' sake, there's an army of reporters outside and they're getting more demanding by the minute. We have to be quick to the carriage." Mimi called to him when she spotted him at the bottom of the stairs.

He jogged across the sleek marble floor, groaning internally for the second time. The press! Fucking hell. They're the fucking worst people ever, especially since the sodomite rumours and me being seen running around with Paul started up.

John made his way to the front doors. Two servants stood in front of him, but stepped out of the way to let him pass as he opened it a little to peek outside.  
At the gates, he saw a horde of people had gathered, and they had been barred from getting to close by the guards posted out front. He gulped. They'd try to ask him about his love life again, ask him about the rumours... they were very dangerous rumours to have buzzing about you when they had merit, because some people could decide to go snooping and he'd be found out. He didn't expect Brian or Stuart to say anything about what they'd done, because it'd incriminate them too, but what if one of the staff saw? what if they confided in someone that could turn their back on them and dob them in? It was terribly risky.

"Should we go now?" He turned to his aunt. She blinked down at him from her stony expression, only her eyes flashing with nervousness giving away her true emotions.

"Yes, let's go." She nodded, and the servants opened up the doors for them; with that, the two began to hurry out of the manor and down the front steps, taking to a somewhat brisk pace so as to get to the carriage faster and ignore the press. When they reached the iron gates, he saw the reporters being pushed and held back by guards to make way for them so they could get to their transport. The carriage driver was standing at the door and waiting for them.

"Queen Mary! Prince Lennon!" Some of them called out their names, snapping pictures and temporarily blinding them. The spare guards opened up the gates for them, leaving them to begin to hurry away and down to the carriage, avoiding their prying eyes.

"Prince Lennon!" A tall man managed to get a few metres closer than the others and he snapped a picture of the boy, making him wince at the bright light before he began to scribble something down in his notebook. "Can you address the rumours people have been spreading about your supposed sodomy? Are they completely unfounded, or do they have actual merit?"

"Mr. Lennon! How does Miss Powell feel about the rumours circulating you?" Another one piped up, peeing over a guards shoulder to try and get a better look.

John froze in his spot, fear crashing over him like a tidal wave and drying his mouth instantly, closing up his throat and making his heart race a thousand times faster. What the fuck do I say? I just have to keep denying it, right? Just keep denying. Just deny it. Don't freak out, John. You're okay. Just deny it. Just deny it.

He was about to open his mouth to speak, but it seemed Mimi had beat him to it;

"It's all made up, of course! How could anyone believe such a thing? He's about to get married! As if anything like that would ever be true. Now we must definitely be on our way, thank you kindly." She sent a polite, tight-lipped smile their way, looking about a second away from murdering them all before being helped into the carriage by the driver. John shook the drivers hand and they exchanged pleasantries before he climbed in after his aunt.

"Prince Lennon!" He heard a few more press reporters call his name as the driver got into his position, hastily kicking off the horses, the carriage slowly pull away from the front gates, down the long smooth path to the main city. He turned to look out the window and watched a few of the reporters had tried to run after the carriage, but obviously weren't fast enough and had given up. 

How much longer will this go on? He thought with a wince, turning to look down at his lap, twiddling his thumbs. He felt like there wasn't anything he could do to get them to stop except get married. And even when he did get married, people would still speculate, still talk about it.. any one of the staff could have seen something incriminating and just out him purely for their own gain. He felt like maybe it was a long time coming. If the truth ever came out... he had no idea what he'd do.   
I can't take anymore of this. We have to leave soon.

When the royals finally arrived at their location, John was looking upon a flawless, creamy white mansion flecked with grey intricacies, a fanciful front garden with marble statues and topiaries that he felt was excessive. It was all just a gigantic display of "hey, look, I'm wealthy and endlessly rich!", as most of these houses were. In fact, the royal manor was the worst of them all in their extravagant displays of all their money they leeched off of the poor in the centuries before. John felt there was always a barren quality to them, lavish mansions with marvellous gardens and furniture that was so expensive that it would have fed fifty poor families for months on end, but there was no one inside. Their footsteps always echoed strangely against the towering walls, like it had been made perfectly for people to live in, but had been silent for years. The rooms always felt cold and stagnant, like the bed of a lake, but without the water pressing in on you, instead just the weight of the desolate rooms - looking as if nothing had been touched but had been kept perfectly clean for decades.

"We're here," Mimi declared, but she didn't need to do that, since he could deduce for himself that they were there by the fact that they pulled up to the house and the gates had been opened so their carriage could pull in. He saw several other people had arrived as well, as there were plenty of other carriages. John turned to his aunt, wanting to know exactly what this event was supposed to be.

"Whose house is this again?" 

"John," she stared down at him disapprovingly. "you should know. But, I guess that won't change anything, so, it's Mr. Davies' dinner party we're going to. It's important we be there to make social connections, ones that you really need to make for your future as a king." She raised an eyebrow in his direction as the carriage halted in its movements, the horses huffing with the effort while the portly driver made his way down from his seat. Mr Davies was their doctor, and of course being a royal doctor had its privileges in the fact that he was able to give others as high of a status as him an opportunity to worm their way into the royal scene.

"Seems like 'social connections' are all we're doing lately," John muttered mutinously under his breath. He'd have to sit around a table of men and listen to them boast about the properties or banks or trading lines they owned, talking about stock exchange and the current economic climate. Always opportunistic, always wanting more when they already had the world at their feet, constantly seeking out gullible people to sink their teeth into. 

Mimi had obviously heard what he'd said, since she glared at him again while he hopped out of the carriage, adjusting his necktie that was too tight around his neck. He held his hands behind his back, fiddling anxiously as he mentally prepared himself to go inside. He stared up at the mansion and swallowed nervously, pushing up his glasses with his index finger. 

"Don't dawdle," Mimi tugged on his sleeve before beginning to make her way up the steps; he hesitated, reluctant to follow, but eventually forced his feet to move when he realised he would look odd just standing there. Before they even reached the front doors, they were opened up and Mr Davies' flushed face stared down at them. He smiled jovially and bowed to them, his house staff coming up to welcome them inside. 

"Welcome, Queen Mary - Prince Lennon." The man stepped aside to let them pass, Mimi trotting inside with her usual air of superiority, handing her purse over to a butler while a maid took her coat off of her shoulders. 

"Your coat, sir?" A shy-looking maid with black hair, a year or so younger than him, came up to offer to take his coat; he didn't like the way she seemed to be a bit more interested in him than she was meant to be, but he just smiled at her and shook his head, instead taking it off himself and handing it over.

"No need. Thank you, miss." He nodded at her politely.

She stared at him like he had just offered all the riches he possessed to her, cheeks going beet red and eyes wide - she let out a half-giggle, half-squeak and bowed her head, hurrying away as quickly as she could. It was rather adorable, he thought. She probably wasn't used to anyone thanking her, the poor girl. She seemed to have a crush on him too, which was probably one of the reasons why she was so embarrassed - but he wasn't bothered, nor interested. A certain droopy-eyed boy was much more appealing to him.

"Welcome, welcome! Please, make yourself at home. Dinner is to be served in the dining room, let us walk." Mr Davies was pretty hospitable, but John didn't really notice; he was too caught up in thinking about the sultry, saccharine words Paul had whispered in his ear the night before as they were entangled in each other's embrace.

"Oh! I meant to mention, Mr. Lennon, if I may be so bold - your fiance, Miss Powell, has also arrived." There was a humoured sparkle in the man's eyes, as if he knew what John would be thinking - and John would have found it endearing, if not for the fact that he wasn't interested in Cynthia in the way everyone thought he was. But he was still terribly happy at finding out that she was there. Cynthia had come! He would have someone sane to talk to that night, and not be all alone in a room full of rich pricks.

"Thank you, Mr Davies." John nodded in his direction as they entered the dining room - there were tables set up everywhere, and there must have been twenty or so people in attendance to this party, maybe even thirty by the looks of it. It was a little daunting, and he felt his footsteps slow as he tried to take it all in and prepare himself for the most mentally draining times of his life. He'd done it time and time again, he was used to things like this now. But it didn't mean it wasn't tiring after all these years. 

He spotted his fiance at the table near the middle, mainly populated with women - talking about things rich women would usually talk about, probably. They never sat in on the business talks or anything the men would talk about. He knew why, of course, but felt it was stupid. Cynthia was smarter than half of the portly businessmen (they always had the reddest faces John had ever seen - most likely due to a lifetime of alcoholism) combined. But it seemed there wasn't anything he could do about it except go along with it. Maybe it would change one day.

"Oh! John!" She had noticed him making his way over, and the women all turned to look at him, some leaning in to whisper to each other excitedly, especially the younger ones. "So glad to see you've arrived."

"Likewise, love." He smiled at her as she stood up, linking arms and trying to look like he was in love as convincingly as he could. "Dearly sorry, ladies, mind if I steal Miss Powell for a moment?" He joked, making a few of them giggle.

"No problem. You must tell us about your plans for your children later on, Cynthia!" One of the older ladies beamed, waving the two off. Children? John's stomach lurched. He did his best not to show his feelings on the outside, just smiling at the women before quickly taking his fiance to the side. 

"C-children? What are they talkin' about, Cyn?" He confronted her immediately, fear curling around his heart like a claw. He wasn't ready for children! He wasn't even ready to get married, let alone have children.

"They've been asking about it non-stop, John, I'm sorry," she winced, glancing around worriedly as she leaned in to whisper more quietly to him. "we don't have to do anything until you're ready, of course, but the pressure for us to have children once we're married is building."

He was about to speak, but she held up a hand.

"I know you probably don't want to have children at all, especially with me, but.. to everyone else, there isn't any reason for us not to. They keep trying to 'put ideas' in my head or something. We're expected to keep the royal blood going."

He gulped. He couldn't have children. He only turned eighteen last year! He wanted to spill his plan to his fiance, tell her that she doesn't have to worry and that she won't need to be pushing out babies for him anytime soon. 

"Trust me, I don't want this just as much as you do." She chuckled to herself. "I'd rather be with Jane." She seemed to grow shy at the mention of her name.

"Oh! Yeah, Jane." John almost had forgotten. "How have you two been getting on?"

"Well.. a few weeks ago, I snuck away and we met in the city, and she confessed her feelings for me in the park under the blossom trees." Her cheeks went deep red and she couldn't seem to fight her grin. "It was rather romantic, actually. It's been hard to meet up with her, but we've been finding ways. She is such a lovely, bright girl.. I never expected I would fall for a woman, even less that she would feel the same way." 

"Really?" John gaped before grinning widely. "That's absolutely gear, Cyn! I'm so happy for you, really. Congratulations." He was so glad that Cynthia had been able to find love elsewhere after he broke her heart. It still sent guilt trickling through his veins at the thought. He'd never be able to make it up to her, how much he tried. She deserved so much better than to have her emotions hurt by some prick who didn't know what he was doing.

"Thank you. It's really wonderful." She smiled up at him. "Now we better get back before they start wondering where we went," with their arms entwined, they returned to the party. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry this isnt so like amazingly interesting HDhjbdbf anyways hope u enjoyed this chapter,,,,,,personally im not into this story so much anymore, the plot is flawed and messily put together and theres a lot of continuity errors and i didnt pace things out so well, the earlier chapters hhhg fuck i cant read bc they make me cringe tf out so like yeah. sorry guys about the whole thing but this story is nearing its end and ill finish it up bdbfbf idk I think it woulda been better if i made john maybe just a rich guy not a prince, or at least if i kept the whole prince thing i could have written it better and i didnt have enough knowledge about how certain stuff worked and it would have actually been hard for john to meet up with paul a lot but i only sort of shoehorned that in later in the story so it just doesnt fit all that well, some of the drama is just kinda spontaneous and i forgot about certain drama plot points several times and that. like idk this is a decent fic for the first time i ever wrote a beatles one, and also for the first fic where i actually tried with it lol and made up my own proper plot fhfhf but its certainly very flawed and not my best work. anyways done ranting about all that i WILL finish the story up but im not doing a sequel, there isnt enough conflict for that and if i wanted it to fit with this story it would have to go in a certain direction i dont want to do etc. anyways yeah so ill finish this fic etc but thats it, then im gonna focus on my other works that are much better etc. i can appreciate what i learned and improved on in this fic so this is still rly close to my heart,, but yea just not my proudest one. anywAYYS hope u enjoyed this chapter sorry for the rant, bye bye !!!


	44. forty three.

june 1859

"Paul, c'mon, stop dawdlin'! Help me cut up these onions." 

"Huh? Oh..." Paul looked up from the paper in his hand. He shied away from the harsh summer sun that beat down on his face, making him hold up a hand to shield his eyes. Mike was peering out from the door of the shed where they prepared the animal feed, gazing at him with slight concern and suspicion. He tried to manage a convincing smile. "Comin'." 

"What's up with you lately? Yer mopin' about like a bad smell and you keep sighing wistfully. What's got you down in the dumps?" Mike placed his hands on his hips as his brother slipped past him, slipping the drawing of him asleep in John's bed his lover had drawn for him - he'd found it in the pocket of the pants he was wearing and had been staring at it with a sickeningly fond smile before Mike hurried him along - before picking up a trough they carried the pig's food in and dumping it on the bench.

"Nothin', nothin'. Just... tired." Paul answered vaguely, focusing on slicing up the onions Mike had clumsily tried to cut up but failed. The thoughts about the decision he was going to make soon filled his head again, a pang of guilt coursing through his chest. Mike would be so torn up when he found him gone with just a measly note. I'm so conflicted, damnit!! He almost slammed his fist on the bench in rage, staring down at the half-cut onions with a grimace. 

"Are you sure?" Mike stared at him in worry, nudging his shoulder gently. "You can tell me what it is. Is it that... John guy?" He chewed his lip with furrowed brows. 

"No, no. We're fine." Paul shook his head, not feeling up to talking about the prince. He'd almost forgotten that his brother knew about them. He'd been a good sport about to whole ordeal, even if he knew next to nothing about what it was like, and the raven-haired boy couldn't feel more grateful. He lifted his head, finally gathering enough courage to meet Mike's eye.

Locking gazes with his worried own, he let out a weak noise and pulled him into a tight hug, holding on as if it was the last time and burying his head in his shoulder. He felt Mike stiffen in his embrace before melting into it, patting his back awkwardly. 

"I'm sorry, Mike. I'm so sorry." The words spilled from his mouth before he could stop it, and he already felt his eyes flooding with tears and his throat closing up, trying to shove down all the emotions he was feeling before he turned into a sobbing mess right then and there. "Y'know I love you, right?"

Mike gently pulled away, letting his hands rest on his brother's shoulder as he gazed into his eyes, looking even more anxious than before. "Paul, what d'ye mean? I-... I know you love me, I love you too. But what is this about? What's got ye so worked up?"

Paul blinked, swallowing hard as he tried to keep himself from crying. "I can't tell you.. I really would if I could, Mikey.. 'm serious. I would. But.." He reached up to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes with a grimace. "I can't this time,"

"'m worried.." Mike let go of him. "You've been so jittery and kinda sad lately. Are ye sure you can't tell me the truth? Y'know I won't make fun of you or anythin' like that, I promise." He blinked sadly. "D'you feel like you can't tell me 'cause I'll tease you or be a prick or somethin'? Is that it?"

"What?" Paul exclaimed. "No! No way." He shook his head. "It's not about that at all. I know I can trust you with anythin'.." he paused, scuffing his foot against the floor. "I just can't tell you about this one. But I want you to know.." He rested his hands on Mike's shoulders. 

"I love you very, very much. Yer such an amazin' brother and I've done me best to be there for you whenever I could. Even though we've had our fights, our squabbles over stupid things.. I've always loved you, and I'm so glad yer here. I'll always be here to support you. Y'know that, right?"

"..yeah." Mike spoke eventually, small smile on his face. "I know." 

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Okay?" Paul sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, feeling tears threatening to spill again. "Do you promise you'll take care of yerself and da' for me?"

"Paul..." Mike started, and Paul knew he must be deducing that something more was going on, but he had to know.

"Do you promise?" He stared at him earnestly.

"Yeah." Mike spoke eventually. "I promise."

Paul sighed quietly. I'm so sorry, Mike.. I'm so sorry I'm leaving you. I wish I never had to. But I need to be happy. He wished he could tell him that, but it would have to be left unsaid until he was properly gone and they wouldn't be able to find him until it all blew over. He'd come back, he wouldn't be leaving forever. But it'd be a while until he'll be able to come back to them without them freaking out on him, though.. they'd freak out on him either way. But he'd have to wait until the searching would die down, especially with John, since everyone would talk about the prince's disappearance for a while.

"Okay. I'll finish up the food here, alright? You go have a break. If da' argues otherwise, tell him I'm takin' over yer work for the day." He patted his shoulder before letting him go, turning back to the onions and resuming the onion cutting.

He felt Mike's eyes on him for a few moments, but he refused to turn to look at him, feeling the overwhelming guilt rising in his throat like bile again.

"Alright.." His brother's voice was quiet, soft footsteps following before the shed door was opened. "Paul?" 

"Yeah?" Paul's voice came out hoarse, and he coughed quickly to cover it up. His hands shook with the effort of restraining from crying out apologies until his throat bled. How can I do this to Mike? How can I? 

"Thank you," He could almost see Mike's smile from behind him.

"Don't.." Paul clenched his teeth, feeling a tear roll down his cheek before he furiously wiped it away. "don't say that. Please." I don't deserve your thanks. I don't deserve it at all.

He didn't get a reply. Instead just silence for a few seconds before the door was shut after his brother.   
A strained noise escaped Paul's lips and he clutched onto the edge of the bench until his knuckles went white, shutting his eyes so tight until bright, coloured shapes appeared before them. His shoulders shook as he quickly got back to work, cutting up carrot slices so harshly that he carved indents in the chopping board.   
His hands shook so badly, vision blurring with insistent tears that as he cut up the last piece of carrot, the edge of the knife dug into the side of his finger.

He cried out and the knife dropped to the dirt ground with a thump, glinting in the sunlight streaming in from the tiny, dust-caked window. He held up his finger to his gaze, rubbing his eyes furiously to clear up his vision. Scarlet liquid welled at the cut in the side of his index finger, rolling down the side and falling to the ground. He sucked on the wound with a grimace, pulling back to see that the cut wasn't very deep and hadn't sliced off any skin. 

"Shit." He sighed as he watched fresh blood seep from the cut. It'll clear up in a few minutes. He knelt on one knee and picked up the knife from the ground, grabbing a nearby tea-towel to clear it of dirt and getting back to work, keeping his wounded finger well away from the food. He worked with unsteady hands but managed not to cut himself again as he just focused on his work, placing all the necessary food for the pigs into the troughs and carrying them out one by one to the pig pens. Once he had finished that task, he dusted off his hands on the sides of his overalls. He stared down at his finger, noticing that the blood had dried and the cut was beginning to seal up, since it wasn't very deep.

The conflicted, suppressed emotions were clawing at him, consuming him so strongly that he hurried away through the paddocks where they kept the animals until he reached the stables, silently slipping through the door and scanning the room. When he spotted Ginny in the far corner, munching away on some hay, he made his way to her stable. It was therapeutic for him to just sit with Ginny and let out anything he'd been keeping to himself. She lifted her head as she swallowed the last of her hay, nudging his cheek in welcome as he lifted a hand to stroke her head with a sad smile.

"Hi, Gin. I should've brought you an apple, sorry." He spoke softly. Paul leant against the fence as he patted her. She blinked at him, gazing down at him from her large eyes as if accepting his apology. He couldn't hold it in anymore; he grew choked up and felt tears well in his eyes again. "Jesus, this is going to be so hard." He laughed wetly, finally letting his emotions run free as he let out a weak sob, burying his head in the horses' neck as the tears began to roll down his cheeks. "I just want to be happy. It's not fair. Why couldn't I have been happy here? Why couldn't have John been happy or have a better life? He deserves so much better. We can never be ourselves, no matter where we go. There's nowhere where we're truly safe and can express who we really are. It hurts.."

Paul stayed there for a long time, crying softly as he petted Ginny, who was ever so patient and just let him break down, occasionally brushing her muzzle against his shoulder in comfort. She seemed to understand his sadness. He would have been there until the sun went down except for the fact that someone interrupted his moment after half an hour or so.

"Paul? You okay? Jim said you'd be out here."

He started, choking on his tears and flying into a coughing fit, wiping furiously at his eyes and sniffling; when he whipped around to see who it was, he felt embarrassment rise in his chest when he saw it was Ringo and George. The two of them slowly approached him, looking at him in concern, obviously noticing that he'd been crying.

"Oh, uh-" Paul started, sniffling again and coughing into his elbow before dabbing at his eyes again, not meeting their eye. "hi, guys."

"Paul, are you alright??" George rushed over, fussing over his best friend and trying to get a good look at his face. "What happened?"

Paul shied away from his touch. "N-nothin'. I'm fine,"

"It's obviously not nothin'." George's brows furrowed. He gazed up at him worryingly, Ringo coming up to his other side and resting a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay, Paulie? You can tell us what's up, if you need." Ringo spoke softly. He didn't seem to pressure him into saying anything, and he was grateful for his endless kindness.

"Just.. y'know. I had a talk with Mike." Paul wiped his nose, looking down at the ground and pressing his lips together. 

They seemed to understand what he meant by it, and George pulled him into a hug. Ringo wrapped an arm around each of them too, letting out a sad sigh.

"Oh, Paul - I'm sorry," George buried his head in his shoulder. "That's gotta be really hard."

"It was." Paul nodded. "I'll never be able to make it up to him.. but I'll do me best by focusin' on the farm as much as I can and doing everythin' to help before we.. leave."

Eventually they all let go of the hug. Both of them exchanged an awkward, looking back at Paul with uncertain smiles.

"Yeah. I get that." Ringo nodded. "We're.. still thinkin' on it."

"No, no-" Paul started, shaking his head. "It's okay. You guys don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"Thanks, Paulie." George smiled, more relaxed this time. "Promise, though, we haven't said no yet."

He smiled back at his friends. He knew they'd always have his back, and he felt the emotions straining him easing. George and Ringo were such good people. They'd been through so much together, and Paul was endlessly grateful to have known them for so long.

"Hey!" Ringo brightened, seemingly having gotten an idea; "I know somethin' that'll cheer you up. Why don't we go down to the docks and get some chips? That'd be good. I'll pay if you need,"

"Yeah! How 'bout it, Paul?" George grinned at him. "We can do our thing, y'know? Where we watch the sailors and make fun of them and make up stories about what they're sayin'?" 

Paul couldn't help but grin himself, feeling like an invisible weight was being lifted off his chest. Leave it to those two to always know how to cheer him up. It'd be so much better if John could come, though..

"'Course! That'd be great." He thought to himself for a moment. "I have to move the sheep to another paddock, though, and clean the chicken pens before I go, though.. that's the main tasks for today." He turned back to them. "Is that okay?"

"We'll help you!" George stood up straight, mock-saluting and making him and Ringo giggle. 

"Thanks, guys. Yer truly the best. If I'm ever rude to you guys again.."

"Then we'll know you've gone back to normal." Ringo snickered.

With that, the three of them got to work; they saddled up on horses and trotted out to the paddocks, going into the one where the sheep were wandering around, herding them along and opening the gate that led to the next paddock along where they could keep grazing, shepherding them inside before returning to the stable. After praising the horses for doing a good job and giving them a treat and refilling their water troughs, they made their way to the chicken pens with pitchforks and buckets of water and sponges. They cleaned out the old, used straw and replaced it with fresh straw, scrubbing the roofs of their nests clean and scraping off the poo. Eventually, they had finished their tasks and they rested for a few minutes inside the house, chugging water Jim had provided them gratefully and wiping the sweat from their brows.

They sat at the kitchen table for a few minutes more, chatting idly as they caught their breath.

"Finish the tasks I asked you to do, Paul?" Jim rested a hand on his son's shoulder as he walked past him.

"Yeah, all done. Ringo and George were good sports and helped me."

"Thank you both!" Jim smiled at them. "You two have always been pretty helpful when you come over."

"It's nothin', Mr. McCartney." George beamed.

"Da', we're gonna go down to the docks for a bit. 's that okay?" Paul asked, standing up from his seat and taking his empty glass to put it in the sink.

"That's okay. Be home by dinner, though," Jim waved them off.

"Yes! See you later," Paul grinned, the three of them scrambling excitedly to leave the house. As the doe-eyed boy opened the door to leave, he saw Mike come into the house through the backyard, carrying a bucket of water. They made eye contact for a few seconds before his brother sent him a smile, making him smile warmly back before turning to leave.

The three of them set off down the street, chattering away as they made their way to the docks. The sun was blazing and Paul felt it beat down harshly on the back of his neck as they went. It was probably weak to everyone not from England, but to them, it was terribly hot. It must have been about three in the afternoon when they reached the docks. 

"God, I really could go for some chips. Doing all that farm work worked up me appetite!" George gazed hungrily at the chip shop as they made their way inside.

"We all know yer never not hungry for chips, Geo." Paul joked.

They all ordered their own bags of chips, Ringo paying before they left the shop, making their way through the docks and watching the sailors and traders go about their business, carrying carts of goods back and forth and yelling orders. They ended up sitting down at the edge of the pier that was on the very end of the docks. Only a few beat-up boats were attached to it, seemingly deserted - obvious by the wood rotting near the bottom from having been lying in water for months at a time. They dangled their legs over the edge of the pier as they dug into their food. 

Paul gazed down into the water below. His shoes skimmed the surface as soft waves slapped up against the poles. He took off his shoes and laid them beside him, leaning forward enough to dip his toes into the water, relishing the icy tang. It was in that moment he thought about John again, missing him more than he'd ever be able to admit. It had been almost a week since they last saw each other, and it had been weeks and weeks since then and the time before that. He didn't know how much longer it would go on.. there wasn't any way he could visit him. There didn't seem to be a way for him to write to him either.

"You missin' John?" Ringo spoke up, making Paul lift his head in mild surprise.

"How d'you know?" 

"It's obvious. You've been mopin' about ever since we last saw him." George bit into another chip with a shrug.

"Yeah.. sorry." Paul sighed. "It's gettin' harder and harder for me to deal with bein' apart from him."

They sat in silence for a few moments. As Paul gazed at his younger friend, he noticed that George seemed to be concentrating hard on something, biting at his nails as he went deep in thought.

"What you thinkin' about?" Paul asked.

George didn't answer him at first. But after a few more seconds, he brightened suddenly and practically beamed at Paul, eyes wide with excitement. He'd obviously gotten an idea.

"Oh my god!"

"What??" Ringo asked, brows furrowing.

"Paul! I could-" George put down his chips, grinning excitedly as he grabbed onto Paul's shoulders. "I just got the best idea!!"

"Spit it out already!" Paul laughed, urging him to go on.

"Okay, okay, so-" George struggled to get all the words out. "I know a way you can talk to John!"

"How?" Paul's eyes grew wide. His heartbeat began to pick up speed. He could maybe contact John? 

"You could write letters, I'd take it up to the palace and give it to him! And he can write replies and I can give it back to you!" George clapped his hands together excitedly.

"Wait.." Paul trailed off. "Of course! Why didn't we think of it before??" He laughed incredulously. "Yer a bloody genius, George!" 

"I am, aren't I?" George puffed out his chest.

"Wait- the only thing is.. I'm so shit at writin'. I can barely spell anythin'." Paul grew discouraged, his excitement beginning to fizzle. "Da' can barely write himself, it's not like he could teach me how. How can I write letters?"

"Well, it don't matter if you can't spell a few things!" George nudged him. "'sides, me and Ringo can teach you a bit. Enough so you can write to John. He'd probably be able to help you too!"

"Really?" Paul gazed at them in shock.

"Of course! I mean, George isn't the best, but I did go to school for a few years before I dropped out to work." Ringo smiled. "I'm alright at writin'. I can help you out."

"You guys!" Paul grinned, pulling them both into a tight hug. "Yer the best, thank you guys so much." I can actually talk to John now! God, what am I gonna say? I have to ask him about how he's doing with everything. He hasn't told me much about what he's doing at the palace while being shut up in it.

"It's okay, Paul, really," The azure-eyed boy chuckled in embarrassment. "we miss John, too, and at least it's a way to talk to him for now while he's locked up."

"Yeah." The raven-haired boy nodded. "I'll write one tomorrow with yer help, Rings?" 

"Course!" Ringo smiled at him.

"I'll make sure to get it up to John. I know how to get past the other staff to get it to him without them seein'." George finished the last of his chips with a loud burp.

"Ew!" Paul grimaced. "Gross, Geo. But thanks."

"Yer welcome," George licked the salt off his fingers.

"My gross Geo." Ringo grinned down at his lover, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a kiss. 

"Eugh!" Paul exclaimed, standing up and pretending to make a gag noise. "Get a room."

"Fine, fine," George giggled as they pulled apart. "Let's go down to the beach, yeah? I wanna try skim rocks."

"Hell yeah!" Ringo stood up, helping George to his feet before bolting away. "Race you both there!"

"Hey! Headstart," George yelled indignantly, streaming after him; Paul watched them with a fond smile as he picked up his shoes, hurrying after them. He'd be able to talk to John now, he talked to Mike... he'd do everything to help out his father at the farm and earn as much money as he could for them before they left. It was going to be a tough next few years, but it would be worth it in the end..

.. when he would be with John.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this came out late! anyways enjoy this, we're closer and closer to the end now. be prepared!! thanks for reading, love  
u all sm <33 ur all fr the best. byeee!


	45. forty four.

september 1859

"You've been such a great help lately, Paul! I really think you should take a break."

The quiet scraping of spoon against bowl was Jim's answer, along with a vague, nonchalant shrug as the raven-haired boy scooped more pea soup into his mouth; all of his limbs ached and sharp pains shot through his wrists whenever he moved them. Exhaustion hung over the seventeen-year-old like a storm cloud, every inch of his body feeling overworked to the last thread.

"Yeah, I mean - you look like ten horses trampled all over ya." Mike chimed in with a hint of a cheeky smirk before he tipped up his bowl to his mouth to capture the last drops of his soup.

"Thanks, Mike," Paul rolled his eyes, words dripping with sarcasm as he reached to gulp down his water.

"Don't be rude, Mike." Jim scolded him with a stern look, before turning back to his eldest son with concern in his gaze. "You need to rest, son. You look so tired out. Let yer brother take over for a bit."

"No, I'm fine, da'. I swear it." He shook his head quickly. The sickening guilt he'd grown accustomed to over the last few months bubbled up in his throat, closing it up and making it hard for him to swallow the last of his food. I have to do all that I can before we leave. "I can still work just fine."

"I just worry for you. Yer workin' four nights at the pub and wood loggin' during the day, and all this farm work in between! I don't want you permanently hurtin' yerself." His father stood up from his seat as he spoke, collecting his son's empty bowls and taking them to the basin to wash them. Paul stayed silent, just sipping at his water and keeping his gaze fixed to the table, chewing anxiously on his lip. There was a sigh from Jim. "Promise me you'll at least lay off of the farm work a bit? Just relax and spend time with yer friends. Nothin' too strenuous, though."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds. I hate it, but he's right. I can't keep going on like this. "Alright." He agreed reluctantly, lifting his head to send a fake smile his father's direction. "I promise."

"Good boy. Now you two run along, I need to do some cleanin' up in here."

"I'm gonna go hang out with some friends, that alright, da'?" Mike spoke up, gazing at Jim eagerly. "I'll be back by ten."

"Alright, fine." He waved a finger in his direction with a smile. "Any later and there'll be consequences!"

"Understood, sire!" Mike saluted jokingly as he dashed away - probably to get his coat or something - causing Jim to laugh.

As Paul watched the exchange, his chest warmed strangely, making him smile affectionately. He loved his family, he really did. Thinking about parting from them, leaving them only with a rushed, apologetic note, no clue to their whereabouts, worried that he wouldn't be able to make it alone and might not be able to make his way back.. it struck a bolt of fear into his heart. But.. he was willing to do it. For John. For now, he'd do all he can to make it up to them. And he had been, for the past few months. Letting out a dismal sigh, he made his way out of the kitchen and through the hallway to their single bedroom. Peering into it, he was grateful to see no one there - and he shut the door softly after him before he went to sit on his bed. Since Paul had been working so much and there'd been an influx in sales recently due to it being harvesting season, Jim had been able to afford to get more proper bed frames for them (the three of them assembled it themselves on a warm evening the week before now), so now they each had beds again. They had had proper beds previously, but Jim's had fallen apart and termites had eaten away at both Paul and Mike's. They'd been relegated to just mattresses then.

Paul's mouth gaped in a large yawn before he slowly laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling, swinging his legs over to rest them on the bed. Almost instantly, the aching pain of his lower back began to ease as he did so, finally willing to let himself lie down for the first time that day.   
The last few months since him, George and Ringo had come up with the idea for Paul and John to exchange secret letters had been chaotic and extremely draining. The raven-haired boy had been losing himself in his work to distract himself from the apprehension of his huge life decision he'd made that would greatly impact everyone around him, and so far it had been working. He'd met up with John once since the last time they saw each other to discuss their plan and to catch up, and that had been about three weeks ago. John told him about how he was able to take money out of the royal's personal account (sorry idk how banks or money worked then), since he was eighteen now and didn't need permission, and bribe their personal banker-slasl-financial adviser they had to keep quiet about it so Mimi nor any of the other staff who would rat him out could discover it. At least, until they had gone; he said that he could get almost a thousand pounds without it being too complex and ultimately more suspicious. It really sent Paul reeling. That was an amount of money that was entirely unheard of to him. Sometimes it really was easy for him to forget how much money John and the royals really had.

Now they had been sending about one letter back and forth each week, sometimes having longer gaps if John was out of Liverpool or unable to send them without the potential of it getting into the wrong hands or him being caught. It was relieving to the months they'd gone without a single shred of contact to finally be able to speak to each other, even if it was second best to seeing each other in person. It was something.

The auburn-haired boy was such a good writer as well, always using good grammar and using many words that Paul didn't recognise. It had been a bit of a confusing time, since Paul always had to have Ringo to help him write the letters as he hadn't had a proper education, and he had to ask either Ringo or John what certain words meant or how to spell things constantly. George wasn't any help at all, since he was almost even worse at reading and writing than him. But despite the struggle, it was worth it to still be able to talk to each other.   
Paul felt his eyelids were beginning to grow heavier as he slowly turned onto his side, gazing tiredly at the window across from him. Dusk light was just beginning to gather outside, the sun being half obscured by clouds as it began its journey to the ground; he wasn't really paying attention, though, as sleep began to tug him gently into its depths, exhausted from his work for the day. His eyes began to fall shut as he sank into slumber.

Suddenly, there was a thump and a muffled giggle - he leapt awake in fright, eyes flying open as he clutched onto the side of the mattress to prevent from falling off. He trained his gaze anxiously on the window to see who it was that had stopped him from sleeping.

"Gah!" Paul screeched when he saw who it was, pressed up against the window; it was George, making a stupid face up against the window, grinning gleefully at his best friends reaction. There was movement behind the lanky boy, and he guessed Ringo had come with him as well.

"I got ya!" The sharp-toothed boy hooted triumphantly, tapping against the window impatiently; he was pulled away and Ringo came into view with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry. We stopped by the pub for a pint or two on our way here, he managed to get three before I could stop him."

"God, you cunt, George! I'm gonna kill you when you get in here!" Paul growled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and hopping to his feet, glaring at the mischievous boy that was giggling to himself. He noticed the boy's cheeks were more flushed than usual, too. Yes, he seemed to be a bit tipsy.

"Let us innn!!" George whined, coming up to peer into the window again with a pout.

"Comin', don't get yer knickers in a twist." He grumbled. His heartbeat was slowing down as he left the room, relieved it had been only his friends, but angry still. Bloody George. He reached the front door and swung it open, staring down with his special Unimpressed McCartney Glare at George who was grinning at him from his decrepit front porch. Ringo was inspecting something in his hands curiously before looking back up at his friend.

"I was about to fall asleep and finally get some rest after workin' all damn day, and what the fuck do ya do?" He crossed his arms with a sigh as his friends squeezed past him to get inside.

"Hullo, George, Richard!" Jim ambled past the three with a smile and wave in their direction before going out the back door. The two called greetings to him before turning back to Paul.

"Sorry, Paulie. But- we got a little prezzie for ya!" George snatched the item from his lover's hand and held it out. It was a slightly crumpled envelope. "John's reply."

"Oh, yes!" The raven-haired boy brightened immediately, seizing it from him with an excited grin. He finally was able to reply! It had been a few days longer than the normal time it took. "I've been waitin' fer this." Without waiting for his friends, he dashed away to the bedroom and sat on the tiny chair in front of the desk they had in the corner, picking at the sealed paper and pulling it open, slipping the letter from it and hurrying to unfold it. George and Ringo sped in after him, looking almost as eager to see it as he did. They hadn't seen much of him either, after all.

"What's it say?" George peered over his shoulder with wide eyes.

"Shut up, I'm readin'." Paul shot back as he smoothed out the paper and began to read it, pointing out words he didn't recognise to Ringo whenever he needed.

Dear Macca,

Hey, love. Sorry this took a bit longer than expected.  
I have some exciting news, though! We're going off to Paris next week to meet with some businessmen and artists and buy off some things for a few days, I think I'll have some free time and I can look at places. I could maybe pay for it beforehand.   
There's some lovely places I know that are close to lots of nice art galleries and cafe's, ( some nice pubs too heehee ) it'll be lovely.

To answer your question, things have been better than usual, actually. Queen's not been so harsh on me and I can see she's pleased with my cooperation with all the wedding preparation and other events. She even said "I just know you'll make a wonderful king" after we had a dinner party. I felt kind of bad, actually.   
But I had to sit and listen to some fat old rich chumps talk about business and 'male' stuff. They were right creeps, honestly. I wanted to smash my champagne glass over their heads and sink into the floor by the end of it.

I'm optimistic; Queen has been talking around easing some of my restrictions and getting the staff to stop being her personal spies. I'll still have to be more careful than I was before, but it's a start. I'm trying my best to hurry it along, I'm so tired of always being at some stupid engagement, party, dinner with my aunt, sometimes my half sisters come too and cousins and that. Even though I'm surrounded by people, I feel more alone than ever. You, Rings, Fangs... you guys are my true family. I love Queen, but she'll never understand, nor accept me for who I really am.  
I hope you're okay. From what you told me about your guilt and anxiety and how you've been working so much, I'm worried about your health. Please don't beat yourself up too much about it. You're allowed to do things for your desires, you know. It's all my responsibility in the end, anyway. I'm a 'bad influence', haha! Anyways, please take a break. I don't want you hurting yourself.

Maybe after I come back from Paris we can see each other again. I'll have to see. Missing you a lot lately. Ring and Fangs, too. I know they'll probably be with you reading this too, maybe Fangs even read it after I gave it to him and couldn't wait. So hello, you two. I hope you're both alright as well, and that your mum isn't sick anymore, Rings! I hate this stupid cold palace. Promise I'll be able to see you guys definitely soon.

Yours,   
Blackbird

Paul's heart raced. They could see each other again soon! He'd been missing him sorely, in all ways he could imagine. He let out a longing sigh, resting his head in his hand as his finger circled the paper idly, closing his eyes and almost imagining that John was with him, embracing him, caressing the surprisingly smooth skin of his back maybe as they lay in bed. He never expected that he would have such smooth, soft skin, and he had only a few light hairs on his arms and legs. When he first saw them exposed, John had been so shy, except for the first time they expressed feelings for each other. That was a moment of intensity of their suppressed feelings that had come spilling out. He was beautiful. John was beautiful. Paul couldn't believe how beautiful he was. They'd laid in the comfort of the barn the last time they saw each other, curled up in many blankets and propped up against the hay, and he'd just admired every inch of his lover's skin in a newfound awe. He was truly a beautiful person. The curve of his Roman nose, startlingly long lashes brushing his cheeks, the curve of his back, his chiselled hands.. Paul had been so infatuated. The fact that he was even embarrassed, disbelieving of the fact - it astounded him. How could he see himself as anything but? He had been thinking so much about John and the possibility that he could be feeling even stronger feelings for him than just fancying and affection. Could I be? I don't know.

"Why does me code name have to be Fangs?" George groaned, leaning against the chair as he examined the letter, pulling Paul from his drifting thoughts.

"C'mon, it's just so it's harder to identify the person if it falls into the wrong hands!" Ringo rolled his eyes, opening up the drawer in the desk and taking out a piece of fresh paper. "Wanna write a reply, Paul?"

"Oh-" he lifted his head. "yeah, sure." He picked up his pen, dipping it in the nearby bottle of ink as he got ready to write a reply. "Let's see..." With much coaching from Ringo, he managed to compose a decent letter. It was a much better improvement to the last ones.

Dear blackbird,

That's such good news! w̶i̶s̶c̶h̶ Wish I could come with you. i've only been to Londu̶on once, and that's it, haha. An art gallery sounds so fun. What are those like? never seen one. Tell me what paris is like when ya come back... and bring back a c̶r̶o̶s̶a̶ croissant or some french food, please !!! I wanna try one. And Ive been missing you too. I've been so bloody bored w̶i̶f̶ without you, I swear. Im glad Mimi's been more l̶e̶n̶i̶n̶ lenient on you, it must suck to be locked up in the manor. And I'd punch the hell out of them too if i were you, I dont know how you sit through that stuff... but remember, still here for you even if we're not able to see you much. Please don't feel alone.

Don't worry about me, I'm doing fine. I just need to work to get me mind off things. My brother just went to see f̶r̶e̶i̶ friends, and my da said "ten, any later or there 'll be consequences!" and he said "understood sire," and s̶o̶l̶ saluted. It made me feel kinda sad and happy at the same time. I love them both so much. i know I'll miss them a lot.

Hehe ,you bad influence, tosser ! You shouldnt be swaying me this way, a poor innocent little person, influenced by your devilish actions!!! Anyways, I really hope to see you soon. ill be waiting. Sorry , this is not as long as my last reply. I don't have much to say other than i miss you a lot, and don't take too long in coming back.

Macca

"Whew! Sorry, I'm so bad at this." Paul chuckled halfheartedly to himself as he put down the pen, staring down at the finished letter with a grimace.

"It's fine!" Ringo patted his shoulder with an encouraging smile. "You've improved so much doin' this." 

"Thanks," He blinked gratefully up at his friend. "let's go out and have some beers, why not?"

"Yes!" George pumped his fist in the air with an excited whoop; Ringo rolled his eyes with a chuckle, wrapping his arm around his lover's waist and gazing down at him.

"I think you'll only have two more, then yer done for the night."

"Aww, c'mon, babe!" George whined with a faked sad pout. "I promise I won't have too much."

"I don't trust this mug," Paul snickered as he poked his best friend's cheek, making him swat his hand away and glare playfully at him. George and Ringo began to make their way out of the room, the doe-eyed boy quickly folding up the letter and slipping it into the desk drawer for safe keeping before running after them.

"I'm the most trustworthy person in the whole of Liddypool!" George was boasting when he caught up to them. 

"What, a sixteen-year-old that looks twelve with a resting murderer face and long limbs that could be compared to a stick bug?" Paul chimed in - squeezing in between them, he threw his arms around his friend's shoulders with a smug grin George's way as they left the house.

"You aren't that much better, eh!" He shot back with a flustered glare. "You look like an eight year old girl!" The dark-eyed boy reached up to pull the boy into a headlock, smushing his cheeks together until he wrestled from his grip with a cries of laughter.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" Ringo chanted, clapping his hands and whooping, chuckling to himself.

"Shut up! I do not!" Paul cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he couldn't hide his amused grin; "I'll make you wish I was an eight year old girl!" He waved a fist in his friend's face with a snicker.

"Okay, okay!" George held up his hands in surrender with a fond grin. "I'm thwarted by the mighty powers of McCartney,"

"Right you are. Now I order you to be the one to pay!" 

"Ugh, fine! Yer lucky I have fifty shillings." George slumped with an annoyed huff, though the warm sparkle in his eyes gave him away; the three of them set off down the street under the darkening sky.

✧✧✧✧✧

John gazed out at the purple-orange stained clouds that blanketed the outside world from tired eyes; it had been a relatively sunny that day but as it drew dark, he noticed clouds had begun to accumulate, though not the type with rain. He lay sprawled across a deep black couch, head propped up against the pillows, glasses slipped to the end of his nose; his tie had been loosened and he'd kicked off his shoes as soon as he'd been able to after he came up to Cynthia's room after the dinner. He languidly stroked his fiance's cream-coloured cat named Maisie that lay curled up in his lap, purring contentedly as he stroked her glossy fur, ear twitching occasionally as she dreamed.

"It's been a long day, hasn't it?" Cynthia spoke up from her spot on her bed, book in hand as she leant her elbows on the couch's frame that was propped up against it; he was pulled from his quiet trance to look up at the girl, who tucked a stray lock of golden hair behind her ear as she raised her head from her book to smile gently at him, eyes training on her cat in his lap. "Seems Maisie's taken a liking to you."

"She's lovely." He looked down at the cat, who stretched her front paws out with a yawn, claws flexing before she settled back into position to continue dozing, looking perfectly at ease. "I wish I could have a cat. Or even a dog. But Mimi's against animals.. says they're too dirty and would get fur and poo everywhere. Refuses to let me have one." 

"I'm sorry," she blinked at him sympathetically. "pets are truly wonderful creatures. When she's left the manor and it's just us, we can have as many as we want." She scratched behind Maisie's ears before pulling away, getting up from the bed to go to her desk.   
He felt sadness and guilt tug at him, making his gaze flicker back down to the ground. She doesn't know him and Paul's plan. I wish I could tell her...

"That dinner was excruciating!" Cynthia sighed, slumping her shoulders as she shut her book, sitting back down on her bed to begin to take off her high-heeled shoes and undo her tightly-bound dress. "Sorry about father. He was a bit imposing, I tried to tell him beforehand to not be so judgemental."

"It's okay," he shrugged. "not as bad as he was when we first started out." He shivered at the memory of him being confronted by the man when they first were together. He'd actually felt romantic interest in Cynthia then. "The carriage is coming in an hour to take me home, I think. 'm glad we've gotten some time to ourselves." He let his head fall back against the cushion with a sigh. 

"What's on your mind?" She turned to look at him with a small smirk. "I know that sigh. That's your dramatic "I'm tired and troubled" sigh."

He chuckled, unable to stop his smile as he ran a hand through his hair, the perfected style falling out of place a little as he did so. "Nothin', really... just everything's been so stressful lately. I haven't been able to see Paul barely at all," he looked down at Maisie, who had now woken up and stretched; her plumy tail swished across his legs before she hopped up on the top of the sofa and onto Cynthia's bed, nudging her arm to get her to pat her. "we're still exchangin' letters, but it's not the same, y'know?"

"I know what you mean.. it's the same for me and Jane." She sighed. "It's really hard to see each other.. I wish we weren't so ostracised. And I wish our 'social classes' weren't so divided and that it wasn't considered so bad if you made friends with the 'lower class'. We're all people in the end." 

John lifted his head to look at her, smiling sympathetically. "I know, Cyn.. I know." He stood up, moving to sit next to her and wrapping an arm around his fiance's shoulders, resting his head on her shoulder. "At least we have each other. I'm sorry about everything that's happened between us.. but I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, John." She leaned into his touch with a yawn, grinning when Maisie mewled at them and jumped onto the auburn-haired boy's legs, butting her head against his chest; he chuckled and reached to pat her, the cat purring and settling on his lap, obviously glad at the attention he was giving her. "I have a feeling things will get better soon.."

"You do?" John turned to look at her curiously. 

"I don't know, but I have a feeling.." she shrugged with a small smile. "anyways, I've got to get changed into more comfortable clothes. I'll be back in a few." she made her way to her closet and pulled out a silk pale yellow dress and stockings before leaving the room; John watched her go before turning back to petting Maisie, who was beginning to doze off again. He knew she was right. It was going to get better soon.. when him and Paul would leave together. George and Ringo too, maybe. They had seemed more and more approving of the idea as the days went by and he was optimistic that they would say yes and come with them.   
He lifted his head to look out the window that had been opened halfway, the drawn-back curtains fluttering in the soft breeze; he wondered what Paul was doing at that moment. Had George given him his letter? He hoped so. He needed to see him soon.. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yal im legit so sorry for the longass wait i just have had no motivation at all like ive just not written for fukin ages lol anyways enjoy this ig its not that crazy bhjdb but yea some times gone by and its getting closer to the end ive planned about 7-10 chapters left so yea. thx for reading byee


	46. forty five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aa sorry theres been like no updates for legit ever. anyways here ya go sum nice soft mclennon teehee (: not much left to go! thanks yall for 220 kudos like omg that shit is insane !! thank u all sm <33 cant believe this got as big as that in the first place damn dhdj see ya

september 1859

Darkness was beginning to unfold in the sky, the undersides of the cluster of the clouds descending from the horizon stained scarlet, as if washed with blood; the lush garden below was silent except for the occasional crow of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the crisp breeze, swaying like lazy bees in the midst of summer. The tall, sandstone-built manor was still and silent, as if lying in wait, coloured a reddish gold as it sat upon its throne on the outskirts of the city. Silk sheets rustled as Paul sat up, mouth gaping open in a yawn as he stretched his limbs; he was interrupted, however, when a hand came up from behind and jabbed him in the side teasingly, causing him to retract with a squeal of surprise. He whipped around to glare petulantly at the boy who laid sprawled out next to him, head propped up against the pillows, playful grin painted on his face.

"Dickhead. I was just tryna' stretch."

"You made it too easy!" John chuckled, reaching up to wrap an arm around his lover's stomach and pull him towards him - the younger rested his arms on his chest and gazed down at him with a lopsided affectionate grin, cheeks dusted pink.

"Shut up."

"Nah, I don't think I will."

The raven-haired boy just rolled his eyes, leaning forward to capture his lips with his own. John smiled into the kiss, sinking a hand into the other's ebony locks and running it through them; he scooted up into a sitting position as they kissed, Paul straddling his thighs as he rested his hands on his shoulders. After a few seconds John broke away with a content sigh, wrapping his arms comfortably around the younger's lower back.

"I missed kissing you so much." He smiled lazily up at him.

"Me too," He agreed, resting his head on his chest, drawing lazy circles with his finger on his shoulder. "I.." he trailed off with a shy giggle. "never thought I'd be doin' this."

"What d'y'mean?"

"Kissing the prince of Liverpool in his bedroom." He shrugged nonchalantly, rolling off the other and running a hand through his hair, gazing up at the scene around him with furrowed brows. "I resented you so much at first.. and I resented George and Ringo for being friends with you. And.. I've never felt this way about another man before."

John scooted over to be next to him, gazing at him in concern as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "I get it. Rich people are snobby cunts." He chuckled to himself a little. The many memories of encountering those exact people flooded his mind, making him curl his lips in disgust at experiences.

"Yeah," Paul agreed vehemently. "but, y'know.. it's hard to come to terms with sometimes. It took me a long time to begin to accept me feelings for you, and even then - the little voice in the back of me head is still there, tellin' me.. that it's wrong. That it's disgustin', everythin' I've been taught ta hate. It's hard to get rid of it."

"I know." John rested his head on his shoulder. "Me too. Even if I've been with guys in the past, it's still hard to accept. I hated meself for it for a long time. But I know that- if I feel this strongly for you, I don't care if it's wrong anymore."

The doe-eyed boy turned to look at him with questioning eyes. He could see the question within the greenish-hazel flecks that haunted his dreams; "is it love?". I know it is. His heart jumped erratically in his chest and he felt his own cheeks flame up, causing him to train his gaze on the mattress below. I can't tell him yet. He probably knows already.. I couldn't face it if he didn't feel the same.

"Um.." Paul trailed off, looking awkward - he instead just stood up and made his way across the room to peer out the opened window, resting his hands on the windowsill. "anyroad, how was Paris?"

"My god!" John exclaimed, remembering what he'd been planning on telling Paul that day when he'd been able to sneak over and meet up. He sat up quickly with a wide grin, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. "It was delightful, like always- but I found the perfect place!"

"Perfect place?" Paul echoed, turning to look at him curiously.

"Yeah! I was scouting for good places on one of my days off, and I found this lovely two bedroom apartment near this adorable café a few kilometres out from the centre of the city. The lady trying to sell it was very nice too and let me have a tour of the place; I had to pay her a little extra to ensure she would keep quiet about it, as I always have to do if I'm trying to do stuff I don't want others knowin', but I doubted she was going to gossip in the first place." He was practically bursting with excitement. "Oh, it's going to be wonderful, Paul!" He leapt up from the bed and came over to him, taking his hands in his own. "I wish you could've seen it."

Paul stared at him with wide eyes, an excited grin slowly crawling across his face, holding onto his lover's hands tightly. "Really? That's absolutely amazin'! This is on the way to actually happenin', isn't it?"

"Yes!" He nodded fervently. "It had such a cute, quaint little kitchen- a balcony where we could place pot plants and look out upon the suburbia, a lush courtyard that connected to a few other houses! We could even have a cat! A dog - maybe both! Three!" He leapt around the room in excitement, pulling Paul with him, the latter laughing and watching the other with an affectionate gaze.

"I'd love that, Johnny." He wrapped his arms around his waist, gazing at him with an uncontrollable smile. "I even talked to Ringo and George a few days ago about it, an' they seem to be comin' around to the idea more and more. I think they'll be proper on board very soon."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to my insane idea." John chuckled to himself, shaking his head. He threw his arms around the younger's neck and rested his forehead on Paul's.

"Me neither. But.. I wanna be with you." His smile grew softer, a loving glint in his eyes - it made John's heart race.

"God, why is he so beautiful?"

"Huh?" Paul's eyes widened a little in embarrassment, chuckling to himself. "John, yer so sappy,"

"Oh- shit, I said that out loud, didn't I?" John's cheeks went beet red, bursting into laughter, resting his head in his hand. "Sorry, I didn't realise."

"It's fine, you tosser." He shook his head with a grin, gently nudging his nose with his own as they connected lips again; the older held onto Paul tightly before letting himself fall onto the bed, taking him with him. It caused the other to screech aloud in shock, dissolving into laughter as they continued to kiss, tilting their heads slightly to deepen it, lying amongst the rumpled sheets.   
It had only been ten or so seconds, Paul slowly sliding his hand up the other's thigh until there was a loud knock on the door, startling them both - the younger rolled off John in terror and leapt to the floor, staring at the door with wide eyes. John quickly sat up himself, heart beating irrationally fast at the interruption.

"John, what's going on? I heard screaming." Mimi's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Fuck," John cursed under his breath, breath shallow as he tried to keep himself calm. Thank god the door's locked. "I'm uh- getting changed! I.. almost knocked over my cup of water, that's why I yelled out loud."

"Right." He could tell his aunt didn't sound convinced. "Well, I wanted to inform you that dinner is nearly ready."

He swallowed nervously. Why is she telling me this? "Um, thanks. Be down soon."

"Alright." There was the sound of footsteps fading away before they were blessed with silence once again.

The pair simultaneously let out a sigh of relief when they were alone again and the younger sat back down next to John. Neither him nor Paul had moved a muscle the entire time.

"Thank god the door was locked. She probably would've barged in and saw you." John groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "She's been really weird lately."

"How so?" Paul raised an eyebrow.

"She always gets a maid or something to tell me about that stuff... she's been finding excuses to tell me things a lot lately. She always does that when she wants to talk to me about something important." He furrowed his brows.

"You should talk to her then," Paul nudged him slightly.

"Yeah, I will." He nodded, clambering further onto the bed and flopping down on his back, smiling softly in the younger's direction; Paul smirked himself and crawled up to his lover, nuzzling his neck and placing soft kisses there, beginning to undo his shirt buttons as he went. Eventually the auburn-haired boy stopped his movements and sighed softly, shaking his head. "I'm an old man, Macca. I'm not up for round two, for a while, at least."

"Alright." The younger pulled away and gazed down at him, curling up next to him and wrapping his limbs around John, spooning him as he nestled his face into the crook of his shoulder. "Let's just lie here." The two fell into a comfortable silence for several minutes, the older's eyes fluttering closed and drifting into a doze, comfortable and content for the first time in weeks.

"Can you believe it, Paul?" He spoke up, opening his eyes and rolling over to smile at his lover excitedly. "We're actually going to leave together. We can escape all this and just be together! You and me. And George and Rings, too, of course. But- we can be together properly! As much as we can be in this life, anyway."

"I know!" Paul grinned. "I- don't even really know how to feel. You can show me around all the places you know - we can learn French, go to beautiful cafe's, eat French food and stuff.. I could get maybe a better job as a pianist, get my name out there into the world! Y'know?"

"You're a fantastic pianist, love. You had such natural talent when we were practicing. You deserve all the good attention for it."

"I dunno," Paul shrugged, smiling humbly. "I guess 'm alright. I love doing it."

"Oh, shut it!" John rolled his eyes. "You're amazing. I bet you could compose some great original pieces!"

"I don't know! I haven't really tried it before." He chewed his bottom lip, looking lost in thought for a moment.

"You should." John sat up, resting a hand on Paul's chest with a warm smile as he gazed down at him. "I'll be with you every step of the way."

"Ugh, you romantic sod." The younger grimaced jokingly, attaining the pillow next to him and smacking him over the head with it with a giggle.

"Oi!" He protested, holding his head for a moment before glaring playfully at the other. "Oh, it's on!" With that - he snatched a pillow of his own and made for Paul, who dashed away with a cackle, dodging his expert throw that almost took the painting hung up on the wall with it. They chased each other around the room for a few seconds before the younger leapt onto the bed, trying to crawl across to the other side until his knees got tangled in the sheets and he was eventually caught; John gripped onto his ankles and dragged him closer to him, the younger digging his fingers into the mattress to try and escape, weakened by uncontrollable laughter.

"Got ya! Now you have to admit I'm the handsomest man to ever walk the earth." John grinned impishly. Paul flipped onto his back and grabbed onto his hands, holding them up and twisting his wrists the wrong direction. "OW, ow! I surrender!-" The almond-eyed boy protested with a peal of laughter, causing the younger to let go of him. "Agh, I forget that you're so strong sometimes."

Paul smirked as John joined him on the bed. "I have my perks." He rolled onto his side and rested a head on his shoulder. "Yours is that yer the handsomest man to ever walk the earth."

The other's cheeks went red and he rolled his eyes. "I was kiddin'."

"Shut up, idiot. Yer beautiful," He sighed, smiling down at him as he cupped his cheek. "The fact that you think so lowly of yerself is beyond me."

John directed his gaze away from him, looking almost embarrassed and chewing the inside of his cheek nervously.

Paul's eyes rounded with sympathy. "Hey, love- it's okay. Don't worry about it." He pressed a kiss to his cheek affectionately. "Yer safe with me."  
He locked eyes with him, anxiety melting away as he smiled lovingly at the other, letting his head fall back onto the bed. He knew Paul was right; he was safe with him. He felt the three words he'd been longing to speak were itching to form on the tip of his tongue again - he wanted him to know how strongly he felt about him. These new feelings were foreign to John, stronger than how he felt about Cynthia in the past.. I guess I must be head over bloody heels for this boy. He chuckled to himself. 

This caused Paul to lift his head and stare at him curiously, raising his brows.

"Something y'wanna share with the rest of us?"

"Nothing. Just thinking of how much of a dork you are." He grinned cheekily to himself as he saw the younger roll his eyes, whacking his shoulder lightly.

"Can't believe this," Paul smiled softly; John captured his lips in a brief kiss once more, the raven-haired boy running a gentle hand through his feathery, wavy locks, slipping under the covers to curl up together in the warmth. The almond-eyed boy nestled his head in the crook of his neck and breathed in the familiar earthy scent, relishing the feeling of being in his embrace. Nothing between them, nothing to interrupt them - just being together. It was all he could ever wish for. 

✧✧✧✧✧ 

The streets were inert that night. The only sounds to accompany the thump of Paul's shoes against the concrete footpath were loud chatter and the clink of glasses emanating from pubs and hushed conversations in alleyways; the occasional carriage bustled by, the horse's hooves echoing into the darkness as they went past. Gas lamps flickered dimly above him, flooding the streets with a muted warm glow.

There was the familiar tingle down his spine that was still lingering after his stolen moment with John. It left him feeling euphoric and endlessly joyful, not able to focus on anything else but the look in his eyes John sent him as they had gazed at each other. His thoughts were always John, John, John - wondering where he was, what he was doing, how he was feeling - constantly invading his mind, even more so than when they had first confessed their feelings for each other. Does John care about me in the way that I think? He thought to himself in worry. Do I feel the same way? I don't even know.. everything's moving too fast, I feel like I need to slow down.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he continued his hasty trek back home, trying not to dwell over his queries any more than he already had. I would ask him about it, but.. I don't want to seem weak or insecure, thinking about that. He trudged up the gently sloping hill to his house, gravel crunching under his footing as he went. The nearby hoot of an owl made him lift his head to stare at the dark, relatively cloudy sky; the bird in question swooped overhead, outstretched wings outlined against the moon before it disappeared into the forest in the distance. He stared after it for a few seconds, fascinated - then continued through the darkness to his house. 

Eventually he reached it, placing a hand on the front door. If da's awake, he'll be mad to find me come home so late.. he thought, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip nervously. Whatever, I'm seventeen. I'll do what I want. He mustered up as much courage as he could and opened the door; he cringed a little at the groan of protest that sounded throughout the house as he swung it open. The hallway was dark - soft orange light spilled from the archway that led to the kitchen, presumably from a lit oil lamp, onto the stone floor. Maybe he left the lamp on for me?

Deciding to just take the risk of entering the kitchen, he made his way towards the light, peering around the archway into the room. And, as he'd expected, there his father was, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping at tea, arms crossed and leaning against said table. They locked eyes for a moment, until Jim finally gestured for him to come inside, small smile on his face.

"Interesting time to come home, son."

"I know, da', I'm sorry-" Paul began.

"You don't have to try apologise. Yer seventeen, not fourteen anymore. You can do what you like." He waved him off as the raven-haired boy paused his footing once he reached the table. "I couldn't sleep. Anyways, I do have to do my due fatherly diligence- don't go sneaking about without me permission!" He narrowed his eyes sternly before standing up, picking up the oil lamp as he made his way past Paul and to the hallway.

"I won't do it again," Paul promised, though knowing in his mind he probably would do it again. "And uh, da'?" 

"Yeah?" He turned to look at him.

He chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously, wondering how to begin;   
"Um... how do you know, if.. you love someone?" he rubbed the back of his neck, keeping his gaze trained on the floor.

Jim didn't reply for a few seconds before he smiled at him softly.  
"Ah. Well.. you just- know. You look at them, and you think, 'I love them'. You love everything about them, even the things that annoy you at first.. you love every part of them no matter what. Sometimes you see yourself fall for them over months and years, sometimes it happens all at once and you realise." His expression grew wistful, eyes clouding with emotion; Paul knew he was thinking about Mary. He felt his own throat closing up, John coming to mind as he took in what his father said. 

"T.. thanks, dad." He sighed softly. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Goodnight, son." He pulled him into a brief hug, patting his head before disappearing down the hallway to their bedroom. Paul leant against the table for a moment, staring into the darkness as he thought to himself. Maybe I do feel like that about him.

✧✧✧✧✧


	47. forty five.

october 1859

"Seventy... seventy-five.... Jesus."   
Fatigued hands shuffled through identical slips of paper, jaded eyes squinting at them as he continued his menial task; there was a large amount of letters stacked upon his desk that he he had not gone through yet, though he was unperturbed by the amount. Thunder coiled across the landscape outside like water chuckling across a riverbed, the constant drilling hum of rain swarming into every nook and cranny - soaking every blade of grass and every leaf in sight. It was a soothing noise to John, the distant thunderstorm and monochrome crackle of his fireplace roaring on the other side of the room sounding like gentle music in the distance, almost tiring him out even more than his task was. It was times like this he wished he had a cat or something to sit on his lap and keep him company while he worked; though Cynthia's presence on the sofa across from the fireplace was welcome.

"I think we invited one-hundred and fifty, right?" 

He lifted his head to look at her; she was wearing a pale yellow silk dress that pooled at her feet, white stockings and a fuzzy blanket had been wrapped around her frame to protect from the cold. Her sallow locks draped her shoulders and she had a half-drunken cup of tea settled in her delicate hands; her figure was washed in a muted orange from the flames hungrily consuming the logs across from her, illuminating her hazel irises that stared back at him with an equal tiredness, long lashes framing them beautifully. She is delightful, he thought with a soft smile. I can see why Jane adores her. And why I did, once.

"Yeah, think so. It's only three months away now, can you believe that?" He shook his head in a moment of disbelief. The wedding is way closer than I thought, oh my god. He thought with a hard swallow. I can't sit through it. We.. Paul and I have to leave before that. After the wedding there'll be the proper crowning and responsibility fully passed to me and I'll be king, Cynthia queen. I can't do that. I won't.

"I know you're stressed about it, I'm sorry." Her eyes rounded with sympathy, and she took another sip of her tea before placing it on the small coffee table in front of her. "It's hard for me too. That.. we have to get 'married' and pretend to be smitten and everything. And being the Queen of Liverpool.." she chuckled to herself. "it's bizarre to think about."

"I'm sorry, too." John sighed, a twinge of guilt settling in his stomach like someone planted a seed of remorse within him. "You should've been able to be with someone better."

"Oh, shut it, John." She sighed as she rolled her head over to look at him, smiling at the other with a knowing look . "If it was anyone else I had to marry to protect my proper relationship, I'd go nutty."

"Me too." John chuckled, blinking fondly at his lap as he thought of Paul. He wondered how the boy was faring in this weather; they probably had to shepherd all the sheep and various farm animals into stables. Was the McCartney family all huddled around a fireplace to obtain warmth, maybe a blanket or two draped around themselves? Would him and Mike be making idle chatter? Maybe Jim would be brewing a pot of tea or something, possibly making small talk with Jane's father or any of the Asher family who lived upstairs. John's birthday was soon - he was looking forward to spending it with him, George and Ringo.

"Are you ready for the celebration for your birthday tomorrow?"

He pulled himself out of his thoughts like taking a breath of air when you surface from water, blinking at her with a dubious purse of his lips. Oh yeah, that. He thought with an inward groan.

"Not really looking forward to another stupid ballroom dance and dinner, if I'm honest."

"I understand." Cynthia sighed softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she finished the last of her tea. "Let's just be done with it and then you can do what you really want to do."

"Good idea." He agreed, turning back to his desk and gazing down at it blankly. He thought back to the last time he had a ball for his birthday - the year before, a masquerade.

The day he met Paul. He'd been so enraptured by him; his slender figure, languid eyes that held so many secrets and colours. He hadn't even seen his face, nor knew who he even was at first. He remembered George had mentioned his friend Paul was going to attend, and it wasn't until he had spotted George chatting to Paul every now and then that he's known. He no longer cared what anyone else thought and just went purely with his instincts; he'd asked him to dance and flirted and did all he could to woo him. It had been a terribly stupid risk on his part, but.. it all worked out in the end, of course.

"I think not."

"Huh. Alright, two can play at that..." The boy trailed off. "Favourite food?"

"None of yer business." Paul smirked ever so smugly, deciding to play a little at this boy's game.

"Well mine's yorkshire puddin'."

"Why don't ye tell me your name?"

"That's against the rules, isn't it?"

"Touche, touche. Uhm- how'd ye get invited to this place?"

"A friend." The boy shrugged nonchalantly. "You?"

He looked back on the memory with a fondness. He had pretended to not be the whole reason the ball had been thrown in the first place, just wanting for a moment to be a normal person; as if he had been simply invited through a mutual friend or family members, not the prince of Liverpool. He'd been doing that his entire life - trying to act as a commonplace person. Pick up on Scouse accents and phrases from George, roam the streets in disguises, visit regular pubs and the docks and imagine that he was only a regular working-class citizen of Liverpool. Like everyone else. It was all he ever wanted.

He often contemplated what could've become of him if he'd stayed with his mother. If she had taken him away and refused to step aside when Mimi tried to hide him from her. He would've resided in the townhouse she lived in with her husband, and his step-father, technically. He wondered if his actual father was still out there; the last he'd heard of him was when he abandoned them all, seen at the docks before he was on his merry way, never to return. Maybe I should try and track him down when Paul and I leave. Would he even want to see me...? I'm doubtful he would be all that thrilled, if he wasn't willing to stick around in the first place.

Shaking those woeful thoughts from his mind, he gathered up the letters in hand and opened one of the drawers beneath his desk, sliding them in and shutting it softly after himself. The room was still, broken only by the crackle and occasional sudden snap of the fire - as if someone was treading on dried leaves - and the constant of rain and distant thunder. There was a comfortable silence that rested between John and Cynthia, both too wrapped up in their troubles and anxieties about their future to really make any conversation; though being in each others' presence was a comfort in itself for them. Silently telling each other that it'll be okay, and that they were there for each other whenever it was needed and wanted - no words needed. Despite all the adversities of their relationship, they would remain friends for a long time. Until John would vanish from her life like a candlelight after the wax was thawed through to the bottom, its flame snuffed out.

✧✧✧✧✧ 

John had almost forgotten how much he disliked these events. Though they were beautiful, with striking violin quartets and people twirling back and forth - the women dressed like blooming pallid flowers while the men were often in darker clothes, made to look tall and domineering as if they were a blackened stem - along with high-calibre foods fit for kings (literally, in this case- one could say). The ballroom was lit beautifully like always, family portraits displayed along the walls, servants, waiters and waitresses weaving about between the guests with drinks and filling requests. He could certainly enjoy the aesthetic appeal and the wonderful music and food supplied just for them; but alas, it always felt fake. Everyone who attended these types of things usually had a façade of kindness. Some of them didn't even have one in the first place. A common product of having more money that one knew what to do with.

The ball was well underway now, and he'd been mainly ambling along through the room and chatting idly with guests, once dancing with Cynthia before he returned to wandering about by himself. He'd even managed to sneak a few conversations with George as they both attended to their duties, laughing at how vain everyone was before they had to continue to pretend that they weren't friends. He'd begun to feel a little sick at all the bright lights, smells, loud sounds - they were too intrusive on his senses, and he wished he could just collapse in bed. He'd been having trouble sleeping stressing about his future, all his worries weighing down on him more and more with each passing day.

"You alright, Mr. Lennon? You seem a bit faint."

He turned to the concerned voice that sounded near him, pushing up his glasses and squinting; John noticed it was a waiter. He was carrying a tray of tall champagne glasses, one gloved hand resting on his shoulder as he stared at him in slight apprehension.

"Oh-" He started, holding his hands behind his back and fiddling with his cufflinks, feeling his stomach churn dangerously as if he was going to throw up. "I'm alright, just need to lie down for a moment by myself. I'll be back in five minutes or so." He turned to begin to make his way out of the room, all the noise and visual stimuli infringing on him, making him clench his teeth and almost hold a hand to his eyes to shield from the light; the waiter trailed after him, still looking worried.

"I can help escort you to your room?"

"No, no. You stay here. I can get to my room just fine." He waved him off in exasperation, speeding off to avoid any more awkward conversations with anyone. He slipped out of the ballroom uninterrupted - thank god - and hurried up the stairs and down the hallways to his room. He burst in there, taking in large breaths as he sunk onto the bed in a sitting position. He loosened his bowtie and tailcoat in relief before running a hand over the blankets of his made-up bed. The maids had probably come in and cleaned it up during the ball.

He wasn't alone for very long, of course; there was a knock on the door and a familiar voice sounded from the other side: "John, it's Geo! Can I come in or are ya jerkin' it or somethin'?"

He burst into tired laughter. "Jesus, George. Come in."

The younger flung the door open, slamming it after him and hopping onto the bed next to him, smiling up at him devilishly.   
"Finally got away, didja? This is bloody borin' without Paul and Ringo here."

"I know." John sighed to himself. This situation was familiar - the the time he had escaped a certain boring event and George had snuck away as well, the two chatting to each other for a while before they had to return to responsibilities. He longed for Paul and Ringo's company, as well; at least he'd have some sane people to accompany him, even if they weren't able to stick together for the majority.

It had been a while since he had last seen his lover. All the stresses and complications that had been arising had made it hard for him to find time to sneak away to see him; Mimi was still a bit suspicious of him, which made it even harder for him to get away without being caught out. They had last seen each other at around the end of September, and now it was October the tenth. He'd been craving his touch like nothing else, to see his eyes crinkle with laughter, plump lips pulled up in an uncontrollable smile.. he was aching to see him every second of the day now, constantly worrying, thinking, looking for the single moment he could slip away unseen and feel him in his arms again. He would sit back sometimes and wonder about what had led him to this point.

How on earth did I fall in love with a poor farmer's son living on the outskirts of town and plan to abandon our lives and run away with him?

"You right, mate? You look like death."

He snapped out of his thoughts and blinked at his friend in confusion for a moment.

"Oh, yeah. Just started to feel sick and I needed to get out of there for a moment." He turned back to gaze at the floor, feeling unwilling to talk. He enjoyed his company most of the time, but for that moment he wanted to be alone.

"Okay. I gotta go back. I'll see you later, yeah?" George smiled at him - seemingly understanding what he wanted - before patting his back sympathetically before standing up, making his way out of the room, shutting the door softly after him. Once he had left, the almond-eyed boy fell onto his back, letting his eyelids drift shut as he revelled in the silence, the only sound being the distant music and general noise from the ballroom on the other side of the manor.   
He tried to ignore the continuous bolt of nausea in his gut, letting his mind drift back to Paul to distract him. 

I'll see you soon, Macca. I promise.

-

The manor seemed almost deathly silent now in the absence of people; though servants were still making their way about the ballroom to clean up last minute things. Their shoes skidded against the smooth waxed floors, echoing strangely within the stillness as they mopped the floors and folded tablecloths to take away and wash. John was sitting up on the edge of the stage where the orchestra had packed up an hour before, tailcoat removed and resting in his lap, toiling with the edges of his sleeves. He stared sightlessly at the floor, eyes glazed over with fatigue as he thought back on that day. It's been so damn stressful and life draining the last week or two, he thought as he rubbed harshly at his face. I barely have time or energy to anything for myself anymore.

"Hey, John." He glanced up, forcing a half-hearted smile when he spotted it was Cynthia. She was still dressed primly and had now put on her overcoat and bonnet, and he figured it was because she was leaving to back home in a few minutes. "You alright? You seemed a little under the weather tonight." She tilted her head in concern before sitting down next to him.

"Oh.. I was feeling a bit sick, but I'm a bit better now- 'cause everyone's gone." He chuckled to himself.

She smiled, eyes sparkling with humour. "Of course." Pausing, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and stood up again, seeing a waiter had begun to come over to the both of them.

"Your carriage is ready, Miss Powell." The waiter bowed a few metres away from them. Cynthia nodded and muttered a soft 'thank you', and he nodded before hurrying a few metres away so as to let them continue talking for a moment.

"I'll see you next week, yeah?" He blinked up at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose bridge. 

"Yes, I'll come visit." She nodded, smiling at him sympathetically again. She adjusted her bonnet and turned away to begin to make her way out of the practically empty ballroom; wanting to say something before she left, he quickly spoke up to stop her.

"And.. Cyn?" 

She paused in her footing, turning to gaze at him curiously. "What is it?"

"I want to say," he licked his lips nervously, unsure how to go about it. "thanks for puttin' up with me. Yer so magnificent, and- intelligent.. I'm grateful you've been there to help with me problems for this long." 

"I'm not 'putting up with you', John." She rolled her eyes, smirking amusedly at him. "You're a good friend too. I'll see you later." She rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, eyes glazing over with emotion before she turned and promptly made her way out of the room. John watched her go for a moment before sighing sadly, staring back at the floor. The two had so much history resting between them, like a long and winding road; he almost missed the times when it was so much more simple. But he had fallen in love since then.   
And he wouldn't change having Paul in his life for the world.

✧✧✧✧✧ 

"John! Happy birthday, you fuckin' tosser. I've missed you."  
The next day, John was immediately pulled into a lung-smothering hug, causing him to cough and dissolve into chuckles, holding them back just as tightly; a second person joined in on the group, a third one too, a few seconds later - he held onto them for a few more seconds before they all parted. 

"Thanks. Missed you too Rings, George." He smiled at them all warmly, turning lastly to Paul, gaze softening with affection as he looked at his partner. "Paul." The raven-haired boy grinned back at him and they brushed hands for a moment before turning back to the others - the four were standing in the middle of Ringo's kitchen, finally having been able to see each other altogether for the first time since they had met up in mid June. It had become so much harder now.. all of them growing up and having more complications arising, making it harder and harder for them to be friends. Their social statuses were too intrusive and made it next to impossible for them to walk freely together - John had learnt the consequences the hard way. 

"So! How does it feel ta be nineteen, mate?" George grinned and nudged him. "Must feel like a proper adult now, huh." 

"Not really. I don't wanna think about gettin' old. I can't really see meself as an old fart." He chuckled as they all bustled out of the kitchen to settle on the couches in the living room. John immediately settled on the floor below Paul, the younger wrapping his legs around his torso and idly toying with his hair, gazing at him affectionately. George and Ringo sat across from them, both on the floor themselves. 

"You already are an old fart, ya git." Paul chuckled. 

"No, Ringo is!" He pointed to the azure-eyed boy with a playful glare. "He's the oldest."

Ringo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Only by a few months, dickhead."

"That's ancient! Can't believe yer with such an old man, Geo." 

"I know right. I'm datin' a senior fuckin' citizen!" The youngest of the four burst into laughter, causing everyone else to start giggling too; Ringo glared at his partner and they both began to tussle, trying to get the upper hand and rolling about on the floor - neither were really able to do much though, since they were shaking with laughter.

"Why is it they always have to playfight and be cute?" Paul smiled fondly as he rested his elbows on his knees, arms wrapping around John's chest.

"They have to one-up us, probably. George is the most competitive person ever." 

"You're right on that," Paul nodded, as if he was disappointed, causing them both to snicker again before George and Ringo crawled back to them, looking ruffled, Ringo embarrassed.

"What happened?" John raised one brow, smirking.

"Nothin'. Anyway-" Ringo brushed it off. "How's it been with you, John? The wedding and everythin'."

John gulped slightly, suddenly nervous as he remembered; he felt Paul stiffen for just a moment before he relaxed. He could almost see his expression. He knew how his lover felt about the situation - no matter how much he would reassure him it meant nothing, he would still doubt his words, jealousy flaring in his eyes as he pressed his lips together to try and conceal his emotions. Oh, wait- I have to reply. He remembered.

"Fine, I guess. It's in three months - but I'm not gonna be around for it, anyway. Paul and I.. we plan on leavin' just before it." He nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

There was a tense silence that fell over them for a few seconds; George and Ringo exchanged a knowing glance, seemingly conversing with a few gestures and almost silent whispers. Paul glanced at him with furrowed brows, jerking his head in their direction as if to ask "what's their deal?" In response, John just shrugged, unsure of it himself.

"Well, about that, actually-" Ringo started, breaking the silence. He seemed unsure, gaze flitting uncertainly between his two friends before returning to George again, who was staring at them seriously.

"We're in." George nodded.

The pair didn't respond for a moment, staring at them incredulously. They're gonna join us? John thought with widened eyes, heart racing with a sudden burst of excitement.

"You mean yer in for.. the-" Paul began, gesturing vaguely to represent the whole 'running away' deal.

"Yeah. We've decided." Ringo nodded; hints of a smile had begun to break out on his face, glittering eyes giving away his secret excitement for the whole ordeal. "We're not just gonna let you two idiots run off on yer own, eh?"

"Yeah! You're not gettin' away from us that easily." George broke out a full-fledged grin, practically bursting with nervousness and the thrill of adventure. 

"You guys are coming with us!" John exclaimed as he beamed, almost unable to believe it. We're really gonna do this now! 

"Yes!" Their friends spoke in unison as they nodded eagerly - immediately they all rose to their feet and exploded into cheers, dancing about the room in excited commotion and hauling into yet another group hug. John felt the most joyous he had felt in a long time, whooping and running about the room, face basically radiating delight. He leapt onto the couch and threw a fist into the air, the other three watching him with eager eyes; John had sudden inspiration to make a speech.

"Where are we goin', boys?" He beamed down at them expectantly.

They looked at each other in a bemused confusion before Paul looked back up at him, grin at him with such affection and devotion planted across his face that it almost sent the breath running from his lungs.

"Where are we goin', Johnny?"

He thought for a moment. The road ahead was going to be rocky, uncertain, and perhaps terrifying; possibly leading to dead ends, detours, or the complete opposite of what they'd envisioned. They would be leaving their lives, their families - everything they had ever known discarded in the dust, but still thriving within their hearts like a flower blossoming against all odds. They would never truly be free in their lifetime, but what they were about to do now - it would strip away their social statures and they would be truly together, even if they would never be able to express their true loving feelings to anyone but themselves. They were journeying into the unknown, living on their own and only depending on one another; but they were _free._

Sucking in a long, anxious breath, John pointed to the roof above them, cementing their final decision in stone.

"The toppermost of the poppermost!"

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoo i had to be dramatic lmaoo and put in the famous toppermost quote. hope u enjoyed this chapter!! all of them r in on the whole thing now! not much left to go. thanks for reading and i hope u americans r doing ok with the election, we're all waiting on the results kjfkfjf anyways ily all byee


	48. forty seven.

october 1859 

"How was your sleep, John?"

"Oh.. it was alright."   
The clatter of cutlery grating against china plates filled the room after the awkward dialogue, the auburn-haired boy chewing on his eggs softly as he stared at the dining table in front of him. The room was devoid of people except for Mimi and John, sitting and eating their breakfast; one consuming their food slowly, the other devouring theirs as fast as possible to leave the room sooner. He wasn't very much in the mood to sit and have an awkward talk with his aunt, so he had planned to finish his eggs and toast with bacon quickly before making some excuse about needing time to himself after all the chaos of the last few weeks.

"Fetch me some water."   
Mimi clicked her fingers at a nearby servant who bowed his head and left the room, coming back a minute later with a jug and cup - John cringed at the way the queen spoke to him. How can she do that and not feel at least some form of embarrassment for being so rude and demanding?

After the waiter left the room, Mimi decided to speak up again as she poured herself a cup of water; what John had been dreading, really. He knew something was probably coming. Mimi had been doing things like asking really mundane questions, unlike her usual self, which was never really asking those questions at all - and checking up on him frequently throughout the day, when she would often leave him to his own devices. It was Mimi speak for "I have something serious I want to talk to you about."

"John," she began. The boy in question lifted his head to gaze at her, pretending to be innocent and unknowing as he finished the last of his tea.

"Yes?"

"I need to talk to you a moment before you run off to your room again." The woman shifted in her seat and looked at him seriously. I hope she isn't gonna scold me again or something. I'm never going to be able to live up to her standards unless I become someone I'm not... a pep talk about 'fulfilling family legacy' is not what I need right now. He tapped his fingers against the table hesitantly for a moment, before letting out a defeated sigh and leant back in his chair.

"Alright. What is it?" He looked back at her, adjusting his glasses; she seemed to soften, no longer sharp edges and stern eyes. They were in fact, glistening with a sadness and some sort of guilt as she took a hasty sip of her water. It was unnerving to see such expressions on her, making him grow nervous as he gazed at his aunt. Mimi was never much of an emotional woman - she was the kind of person that would push through and move on, continue to be stoic and steel-hearted about life's grievances. It was very rare for her to be seen crying or talking about the stresses of life; John had seen her ever really break down her walls only twice in his life. She would always teach him to 'toughen up'. He wasn't allowed to cry or be upset, at least in front of other people - they just had to deal with it, maybe cry by themselves in their room for twenty minutes or so and move on with their lives. You always had to keep up an appearance for others, especially themselves because of their high stature. John never understood it, and probably never would. Why was it such a crime to grieve, to feel pain, to express it? Everyone has to deal with the pain and troubles that come with life, some more than others - why is it expected to just keep it all secret, bottled up inside you, having to put up a brave face for the public as if nothing had ever happened in the first place? It's just wrong. It's not how you should be expected to behave when you lose a loved one or deal with any sort of personal strife, in his opinion. Everyone hurts; pain is a fact of life. You should be allowed to express it, in order to heal.

"Well.. I just wanted to say-" She cut herself off for a moment; he could see she was struggling to form the words, unsure how to convey what she really wants to say. He blinked at her encouragingly, feeling a brief jolt of sympathy for her. It was hard when you'd been conditioned to think a certain way to force yourself to do the opposite.   
"I'm sorry that I've been so harsh on you lately. I can see all the things that have been happening lately have.. been taking a toll on you." She gazed at him sincerely.

"It was unfair of me to shut you up in the manor to keep you from seeing your.. friends.(he noticed she had been a bit hesitant on the word 'friends') I just know how the public can be sometimes - they will take the slightest hint of scandal or any indication that one of us are stepping out of line and run with it. I worried for you, since I didn't want you to have to deal with the consequences of having the friends you do.. of lower class. Everyone would jump on that and just- beat it into oblivion. I try to do what's best for you, I really do.. I'm sorry if I've been cruel or unforgiving in the process. I can see you've been unhappy lately, and I'm sorry that I've kept you from your friends so much." She paused; John let out a sigh and rested his hand on hers, causing her to gaze back at him with the slightest hints of a grateful smile, tears swimming in her eyes - though never quite completing their task. "I know that you love them more than anything. I just.. worry about the future, about what others think of everything. People will always find some excuse to criticise someone, some they consider more 'sinful' than others. You already saw what it was like, all the rumours beginning to arise after you'd been seen in the streets with one of your friends."

"I know. It was stupid." John trained his gaze on the table, the memories of what had been written in the papers that Mimi had shown him the day after Paul and John had finally confessed their feelings for each other arising. They had been utterly stupid in his eyes, but the fact that people were beginning to become suspicious and dig deeper to try and find out what he truly was was terrifying in itself. It had struck a level of fear into him so great he had resolved on keeping himself away from Paul.. which of course, didn't work. He wouldn't have been able to be without him.

"I just want you to know.. that you're your own person, now, John. I can't dictate your life anymore, it would be unjust to you. There are all these new responsibilities for you arising, and I understand it's scary- but you're nineteen now. You can make your own proper decisions, when you become king and everything after the wedding. If.. you choose to do it. I just worry for your safety, after everything that's happened in your life; people are cruel and afraid of what they don't understand. It causes them to hate, sometimes." She patted his hand once before pulling away. "You're an intelligent person, John. More than you give yourself credit for. I'm so proud of how far you've come; and I'm sure Uncle George and Julia are too, from wherever they are." John's chest ached at the mention of his mother, and his uncle that had been a replacement father figure for a long time. "I want you to know that.. I'm sorry for what I've done in my past that might have hurt you. That's all."

"Mimi.." John trailed off, feeling his throat begin to close up with emotion. He smiled at her softly. "thank you." He didn't need to say anymore than that, he knew. They both sat in silence for what must have been a few minutes, her hand on top of John's as they sat across from each other on the dining room table.

Eventually they'd both gotten up. Nothing more was needed to be said; they'd come to a conclusion together and just gathered their plates and cutlery, taking them to the kitchen to wash themselves for the first time in - probably ever. John never remembered washing his own dishes except if he had spent time at either George, Ringo, or Paul's houses. But at the manor, it was something they never did. It was always taken care of by servants, so they'd never felt the need to do it themselves. Though, for the first time; the aunt and nephew began to scrub and wash their own dishes, comfortable in their relieved silence as they worked. Sleeves rolled up to his elbow, sink filled with soapy water as he scraped a cloth across a plate in every nook and cranny before handing it to Mimi to dry. It had a mundane ease to it that John relished, a foreign experience to him but nonetheless enjoyable and something he wished they'd done earlier.

Lacking in basic house cleaning skills and being used to all those chore-like activities always done for him, caused him to crave it more; he suddenly had the urge to sweep the house himself, dust the shelves and make the beds, wash the clothes. Small things that were often seen as monotonous, something that he felt now was enjoyable. I wonder why it's so common for rich people to hire people to do stuff like cook and clean for them.. it must be so rewarding to cook your own meal and eat it yourself. It feels more.. personal. The times Paul and I would fry eggs together, maybe cook some pancakes and spread sugar and lemon on them... it was so much better, because it was something that you made yourself and felt more loved. He resolved to learn to cook as much things as he could when him, Paul, George and Ringo left for Paris.

Eventually they had cleaned them all, the plates and cups squeaky clean - after they dried them with tea towels and put them away in their respective places, John left the room without another word, not before sending one last glance his aunts' way. It seemed they had resolved a few things between them. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he wandered through the halls until he found himself making his way through the back doors to enter the gardens, gazing around at the atmosphere around him.

Nearly all the leaves on every tree in sight had found homes on the ground below, clumping together in dry, crunchy piles or occasionally flying uselessly in the breeze, unable to do anything except twirl with it as if it was in some sort of dance with the wind. The sky had been obscured by clouds again, an he figured it was going to rain later on. Typical autumn weather.

It seemed his feet already knew where they wanted to take him; he just made his way through the garden paths, watching the leaves kick up and swirl around his feet before falling back down somewhere else. As he passed through the beds of flowers that surrounded him, he paused at the orchids,  
long stemmed with white flowers blossoming at the top, some coloured purple and some a pallid pink, too; he decided to pluck out a few, twirling the flowers in his hands as he continued to walk. He knew where he was going now.

The path changed from gravel to grass, walking up the steps and scuffing his shoes against the blades as he halted in his footsteps. Julia's grave was spread before him; it had been placed further away from where the actual family graves were, which were decked in marble and gold coupled with huge statues and memorabilia of them. Julia had a tombstone carved from stone that faced the sky, hidden under a large, overarching willow tree. It had been covered in falling seeds and dust - John knelt down and brushed a hand against the tombstone embedded in the dirt to clear it off so he could read it.

Julia Stanley

1814 - 1858 

They hadn't put anything other than that. Nothing about her or how wonderful of a person she really was. All because they considered her a disgrace when she left the royal family to marry a penniless sailor, making her 'unworthy' to have a proper grave with the rest of them when she died. She had been meant to take the throne, but since she refused and left, it was left to Mimi.. it was unfair on her to shut her out of the family like that simply because she didn't fill their standards. They could have at least shown some respect for her when she died.

He eventually sat down, gently placing the flowers at the foot of the tombstone; he could feel his emotions rising again, the memories of the few times he had seen her, begun to reconnect - before it was all torn away from him like some cruel trial run of having his mother back in his life. He clutched onto his pant legs so tightly his knuckles went white, and he felt his throat close up and tears begin to worm its way to his eyes, threatening to reveal themselves. He wouldn't be able to visit her grave for a long time after they left... letting out a soft, pained noise, he buried his head in his knees and let his tears escape for a second, staining his pants as he clenched his teeth together in order to be quiet. He just had to let it out for a moment, before he went crazy.

It must have been ten minutes or so before he eventually calmed down, wiping his eyes hurriedly and glancing around to check if anyone was around. When he was greeted with no one, he turned back to Julia and ran a gentle hand over the dirt that covered her body. Her body was only a metre or so below him; it was an unnerving thought.

"I won't be able to see you for a while, mum.." he murmured softly. "me and Paul. George and Ringo, too- we're leavin' to Paris. It'll be a while before we can come back, maybe I can never come back to the manor. But I'll sneak around the back to see you, I promise. You'd be sad to see me go, I feel.. but you would have loved Paris. And I know you would've loved Paul too. You two would get along so well. Both of you are the most important people to me." He chuckled softly. "Wish I'd gotten the opportunity to introduce you to him." He paused in his words, unsure whether to make the confession that he'd never spoken aloud. "I.. I love him, mum. I really do. I'm willing to do anything for him. I don't know if he feels just as strongly as I do, but.. I'm hoping. He must feel something if he's willing to abandon his life to run away with me. It was mad that George and Ringo agreed, too! They are my best friends, after all, though. It wouldn't have been the same without them."

"I found the perfect place we could live.. it's big enough for all of us, but still quite modest, too. Right on the outskirts of the main city. It's just beautiful. It.. feels like fate, y'know? Like we're meant to do this in the end. It'll be a tough road to teach them French, but it'll be rewarding in the end. Ringo already knows a bit, anyway. George and Paul can learn as they go, too- I won't put pressure on them. They never really had an education in the first place, after all.."   
He sighed, resting his head on his knee again as he adjusted the flowers he'd laid at her tombstone.

"I hope you like the flowers. Orchids are remarkable."   
He eventually stood up, kneeling down one last time to run a hand along her grave before straightening again. "I love you, mum. I'll.. I'll come visit when I can. With Paul, too.. he can come see you. It'll be a while until the coast is clear, of course." He gazed at her for a little while longer, eyes clouding over with memories of going to the docks with her, her cherubic smile, the times he'd spent at her house. Letting out one last sigh, he turned away to go back to the manor.

✧✧✧✧✧

"You enjoy your dinner, love?"

The house was filled with the sound of water sloshing around, the soft orange glow of oil lamps lighting up the small kitchen as Louise cleaned up after their last meal of the day; the first one for George, since he decided to skip out on them when he found they didn't have quite enough money for it. It was normal for him to usually have two meals or so a day. Three meals a day was a rarity for the Harrisons.

"Yeah, thanks ma'." He chewed on his bottom lip nervously as he leant against the doorway, watching his mum work. He wished he could tell her about what was going to happen soon. Louise was a wonderful woman - endlessly kind, bringing George and his siblings up in the best way she could, staying strong for them when his sister and brother died in the Cholera outbreak of 1848; only him and Harold had survived in the end. 

"Are you alright? You seem anxious."   
His mother turned to look at him, eyes alight with concern. He swallowed hard, suddenly unable to meet her gaze and keeping his trained on the floor. 

"'m fine, thanks. I'm uh.." he trailed off, licking his lips. "gonna go ta bed now. See you tomorrow."

"Oh, goodnight, love." The woman came over and pulled her son into a gentle hug, causing him to freeze for a moment before melting into the embrace, an aching dismal feeling rising in his chest that he was abandoning his courageous mother. How would she feel when he left? He wouldn't leave her with no explanation, of course, but.. he still couldn't help but feel remorseful and guilty. Why did the world have to be this way?

"Uhm.. mum?" He paused when they parted, gazing up at her with tears threatening to swim in his eyes. He was endlessly grateful for all she had done for him, provided for him. Nothing could ever take that away. 

"Yes, dear?" She smiled encouragingly down at George. 

"Thank you. For.. everythin', y'know. Yer the best mother that anyone could ever ask for." He clenched his jaw a little to try and conceal his feelings, smiling tightly at her - her posture softened and she wrapped her arms around him again for a brief moment, kissing him on the cheek affectionately. 

"That's so nice to hear from you, Georgie." She smiled softly down at him before shooing him away with a humorous glint in her eyes. "Now off to bed, if you're so keen to do so."

He let out a soft chuckle and made his way out of the room, ascending the stairs and collapsing on his bed. He gazed up at the ceiling for a while, just sinking into his thoughts; he didn't think his life would go the way it did. Running away with his partner and his two best friends? Not something that had exactly been on his bucket list for the future.   
Sitting up, he threw his legs over the edge of his bed and sunk to his knees on the floor, reaching under it and dragging out something. He gazed at it with a somewhat melancholic sigh. A suitcase - he'd begun to pack a few of his things that he held most dear. No clothes yet or anything like that.. just small things that he wanted to bring with him. A few pictures of his family, a stuffed bear that he'd kept from his childhood, and a few other things that meant a lot to him. 

He sat there for a few seconds more, just gazing at it - eventually he slid it back under his bed and sat on it, the mattress sinking a little under his weight. The new chapter of their life was drawing ever near.

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry a little delay! anyways here it goess things r getting real hehe i dont have much to say except sorry for it being a bit shorter than usual lol. hope u enjoy the chapter nonetheless. see yaa


	49. forty eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rq disclaimer !!! sorry if my french is a little shit btw i used google translate for some of it, if anyone who reads this speaks french feel free to lmk what i got wrong in this hlfhdkjf ALSO i couldnt find any way to convert 1800s euro currency to current day to figure anything out so i just used pounds instead sorry

november 1859

Wind howled strangely in John's ears, pealing through the streets and causing his clothes to be swept up pathetically in its clutches. In order to keep his top hat from flying off, he clutched onto it with a gloved hand as he went, turning back to wave to his carriage driver as he slowly pulled out of the street, leaving the prince alone on the footpath - he rummaged through his pocket and revealed a piece of paper, opening it up to reveal an address; "Onze Rue Clairaut", he muttered under his breath before scanning his surroundings. Yes, he was in fact where he was supposed to be, thank Christ. Clutching onto the paper as if it was his last life support, he trekked up the front steps of the flat and knocked firmly on the burgundy door, keeping his hands behind his back to hide the way he was fidgeting.

Being in Paris again was a little strange. The people, the buildings, the shops.. everything about it was so different, foreign - obviously - but also inspiring, feeling as if he could write a thousand stories and paint a thousand pictures in the beautiful city. The people were so much more open to newer ideas and things of that sort than in London or Liverpool and it was so refreshing to John, making his trips there all the more enjoyable and it being so much easier to make actual friends. He figured he should pay a visit to his friend Jacques before he went back home.

He almost jumped in shock when the door opened, revealing a petite middle-aged lady that he recognised as the landlady he'd met the last time he was in Paris, adorned in a puffy cotton dress, sallow blonde hair done up in a large bun; she beamed when she spotted it was him and moved aside to let him in.

"Mr. Lennon! Bonjour, entrez, entrez!"   
[Hello, come in, come in!]

"Merci, Mrs Cartier. Vous êtes belle." He bowed his head as he slipped past her with a warm smile, gazing around at the house with wonder in his eyes, shutting the door after him. He was glad he kept his French up to scratch.  
[Thank you. You look beautiful.]

"Oh, arrête ça toi!" She whacked him lightly on the arm with a giggle before leading him further into the house. "Je viens de faire bouillir du thé. Vous voulez un peu?"   
[Oh, stop that, you!] [I just boiled some tea. Want a little?]

"S'il vous plaît." The thought of a nice cup of steaming tea was very appealing to him after having to experience the outside cold.   
[Please.]  
He settled on the plush couch in the sitting room, crossing one leg over the other with a content sigh. The lady was exceptionally nice to him the last time, and he was glad that she had agreed to discuss his purchasing of the house. Paul, George and Ringo had been so excited when he told them his plan to take a secret trip to Paris by himself and purchase the house in which they would live in when they ran away. And it was a beautiful one, too.. he knew it was perfect for them. The fact that the wedding was two months away barely even crossed his mind that day.

"Alors ... vous êtes ici pour discuter de l'achat de la maison, oui?" Mrs. Cartier made her way to him, placing down the tray with a pot of tea and teacups she'd been carrying on the small table between the two chairs. Settling down on the chair opposite him, she smiled at him expectantly with raised eyebrows.  
[So... you are here to discuss buying the house, yes?]

"Oui, oui .. tout cela est.. uhm- confidentiel, n'est-ce pas?" He chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds. He always had to be careful when he was doing things like making secret purchases. Make sure no one blabbers to the press so Mimi or anyone who would put a stop to it will find out.  
[Yes, yes.. all of this is.. uhm- confidential, isn't it?]

"Of course. Is not my business." Mrs. Cartier surprised him when she spoke English, though with a very thick French accent; she smiled at him as if she knew what he was thinking and patted his arm. "Don't worry, I will speak English to make easier on you."

"Oh, thank you, miss." He sighed in relief, chuckling a little. "It's still hard to remember it sometimes."

"I understand," she nodded before beginning to pour the sweet-smelling brew into each cup, making his mouth water slightly. "sugar or no?"

"Oh- none, thanks."

Once he had the teacup firmly in his grip and was taking tentative sips, they decided to get into the business side of things. She asked questions like 'how many are going to stay here?' and 'do you plan on bringing any pets?' before they finally settled on a price; 970 pounds. (a/n: worth 122,677 pounds nowadays) It was pretty reasonable and he agreed to it, shaking her hand vigorously.

"Thank you so, so, much, Mrs. Cartier. You've really helped me out, here." He grinned. They actually had the house now! "I can pay for it with cash in hand now, if you'd like."

"Oh, yes! Wonderful!" She grinned back and he began to fish out the money needed. After he'd paid and they said their goodbyes, he left the apartment feeling like he could run a thousand kilometres and never get tired. He'd actually done it! He couldn't believe that they'd come this far; he knew that it was going to be fun to show his friends around Paris, sight-seeing and learning the native tongue. Especially Paul.. a fond smile grew on his face at the thought. They could go visit museums - he knew his partner would love to see art exhibitions too - visit cafés, take walks; just the two of them, together. George and Ringo, too, of course. It was a new beginning in their lives, no longer bound by social statures and outside expectations. Just the four of them.

His stomach rumbled impatiently, pulling him from his reverie. It seemed a good time to get something to eat; set in his new resolve, he continued to make his way through the streets, eventually finding a small café in the nook of an alleyway a few blocks away from the apartment. Making his way inside, he took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of fresh bread and sweet, sugary cakes, making his stomach growl even more in anticipation. It was a fairly modest shop, tables and chairs cramped around the edges, filled with people all speaking French, eating away at their meals. A content smile ran across his face and he took off his top hat; this was definitely a good place to eat, and he couldn't wait to take Paul there - it was the closest one to their new house, after all. 

It seemed no one took notice of him either as he squeezed past all the other people to get to the counter - it was a welcome change from Liverpool, after all, since he had to walk around with disguises when he was there to hide his true face, and he was glad to be rid of most people's attention. 

"Bonjour, que puis-je vous offrir, monsieur?" The young man at the cashier (he looks a bit like George, John thought faintly) greeted him with a smile.   
[Hello, what can I offer you, sir?]

He wracked his brain for a moment, scanning the menu displayed and trying to remember what they were. "Um- Bisque et thé Earl Grey, merci." He thumbed through his money.  
[Bisque and Earl Grey tea, thanks.]

"Dix shillings, s'il vous plaît."  
[Ten shillings, please.]

He handed over the money before raking his eyes across the room to find a spot to sit, eventually taking one by the window, settling down comfortably and reaching for the newspaper resting on the table. Skimming through the pages, he despaired when he suddenly remembered it was in French, and put it down again, not really feeling up to trying to read it. Instead he just rested his elbow on the table and his head in his hand, gazing out the window to watch the people rushing past. He liked these kinds of streets - a small laneway in which only people could walk, shops crammed up against each other, passersby pausing to peer through the windows and occasionally walking inside. It felt more.. cosy, one could say. Like it was a secret area that only people willing to search would find.

Eventually his food arrived and he accepted it with a quick merci and dug into the soup, dipping the buttered bread provided into it. It was certainly a good meal, and he was finished in a matter of minutes, feeling comfortably full. He couldn't wait to show Paul types of French soups and how delicious they were, always so creamy and fulfilling. He could imagine it now - introducing the doe-eyed boy to foreign foods, those eyes in particular lighting up with a new infantile wonder before devouring it within a few minutes. There was so much of the world yet to see, and he wanted Paul to experience every last bit of it for himself. It's what he deserved. And things that John hadn't seen yet they could do as well.. like hitchhike to Spain, even! It suddenly felt as if there was every possibility imaginable at his fingertips with this newfound freedom by their sides.

Standing up, he thanked the waiter that took his bowl and made his way out of the warm, sleepy café, stepping back out into the unwelcome cold. Emerging back out into the main street, he waved down a carriage and quickly clambered inside to escape the wind, telling the driver the address of his hotel before they were on their merry way. He leant his head against the window, myopic eyes gazing out at the scenery that crawled by, listening to the sound of horses' hooves clopping against stone and the whack of the drivers' whip to speed up the process. Those sounds brought the memory of riding a horse for the first time with Paul swimming to the surface of his mind;

_"Oh god, we're gonna die, aren't we?" John muttered, clutching onto the edges of the saddle in terror as he stared at the ground below. _

_ Paul stood up from his kneeling position, gaze sparking with amusement as he let a fond smile play on his lips. _

_ "C'mon! You'll be fine. Ye got me to protect ya!"_

He chuckled fondly at the memory, fingers tingling as if he could almost feel Paul's waist in his hands again and the wind tearing at his skin. His heart ached longingly for it again, and a swell of emotion caused his throat to close up and tears to spring behind his eyes. It had been nearly two weeks since they last saw each other, and he was longing for his partner's touch... and to tell him he loved him. How do I do it? He fretted, taking to biting at his nails. I have to eventually- I can't keep these feelings bottled up anymore. He.. he means too much to me. I just hope it doesn't cause him to be deterred from the plan. He must feel at least pretty strongly for me if he was willing to leave his family to be with me.. right? 

He was again brought back to reality when the carriage came to a halt; he quickly scooted to the door and climbed out, paying the driver and stepping onto the street just outside his hotel with a sigh. For now, he was just going to rest and read a book before he would leave for Liverpool at dawn. Checking back in at the reception, he climbed up the stairs with exhausted limbs and fumbled with his keys to open the front door. He sighed in relief when he got inside, shutting the door after him and beginning to kick off his shoes and take off his coat. The hotel room was admirable, creamy peach walls with a slightly darker pink flower pattern and dark velvet couches. Instead he veered to the left to his quarters, making his way inside and sinking onto the bed, relishing the ease that washed over his body. 

Flipping onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, glasses askew, though he was too tired to really bother to fix them. John let his head roll to the side, fingers grazing across the deep red, almost black, sheets of the bed, exhaling sharply through his nose. He could almost picture Paul lying there with him, those alluring eyes gazing back at him, curled lashes dark against his skin - that small, affectionate smile he always sent in his direction playing on his plump lips. Soon. He promised himself, letting his eyelids fall shut. 

Soon.

✧✧✧✧✧

"Hurry up, Paul! 's about to start pourin'!" 

"Yeah, yeah, I know!" 

Paul directed the sleek brown horse to the left absentmindedly, continuing to round up the last of the sheep into sheltered pens as quickly as he could; the sky above, was in fact, laden with murky, ominous clouds that were swarming ever near, the threatening crack of thunder causing the horse - Arthur, Mike had named him - to startle and let out a whinny, frightening the sheep a little as well, letting out pathetic bleats as they all clustered closer together to try and get inside the pens at once. He quickly patted Arthurs' neck and uttered some comforting words, extremely relieved when the last of the sheep bundled inside and the horse seemed to calm down. He turned to look at his brother, who had been the one to inform him of the obvious weather change, standing by the fence of the paddock, looking somewhat like a vaguely human-shaped speck in the distance.

He sent a gesture the other's way to convey he was finished with the sheep and hopped off Arthur, quickly closing up the gates so as to not let the sheep escape before jumping back on again; he ushered the horse to be quick as they raced back across the field to get to the stables. They made it there within a minute and he rushed to take off his saddle and equipment, pulling an apple from his pocket as a treat before jogging to the front doors of the stables, peering out to see if it had begun raining.   
It had, of course, but he darted out and made a run for it to get to the house, seeing Mike gesturing for him to hurry up from the back door. The sky was lit up with a blinding light for a split second, lightning winking out as quickly as it came, thunder rolling across the land only a few seconds later. Rapidly cascading rain slicked his hair back and swiftly began to soak his clothes.

"Made it!" Paul puffed when he barged into the house, thankfully not completely sodden - he leant against his knees for a moment to catch his breath. 

"Congrats." Mike joked. "Anyways, yer friend Ringo got here not twenty minutes ago. He said he didn't mind waitin' until you were done rounding up the animals."

"Thanks, Mikey." He smiled at his brother, running a hand through his wet hair before shaking his head vigorously to expel some of the droplets, making the younger boy cringe and leap away.

"Hey! Arsehole."

He chuckled, whacking him lightly on the arm before making his way to the lounge room. There Ringo was, chatting amicably with his father, sitting on the couch. He was sipping tentatively at a cup of tea, and he noticed there was another one untouched next to him. 

"Oi, Rings. Da'." He greeted with a grin, flopping down next to him with a relieved sigh as he reached for the tea that had been left for him.

"Hey, Paulie!" Ringo nudged him with a lopsided grin of his own. "Thought I'd come pay you a visit. Stormy out there, eh?" Paul nodded vigorously in response.

"Rounded up the sheep?" Jim turned to his son, patting his shoulder. 

"Yeah, da'."

"Alright. Good lad - soup's nearly ready for you both." He smiled approvingly before leaving them alone. 

"Jeez, yer all wet." His best friend chuckled.

"Yeah, I know. Out of nowhere it just started pourin'!" Paul exclaimed. "Though it was obvious it was coming soon, I guess." He wondered what John was doing at that moment. He hadn't seen him for a while; the last they'd talked, he'd told them all about his plan to take a secret trip to Paris to buy the house that he'd found. It was so thrilling. Their own apartment, all together! He wondered whether he'd bought it yet. "How're you?"

"'m alright. Just felt a bit bored after I helped out at me parent's shop again." Ringo shrugged, sipping his tea. 

"Mmm." Paul nodded non-committedly. His gaze fixed on the ground for a moment before he glanced to the doorway to make sure no one was listening; dropping his voice to a whisper, he spoke to him. "You, um.. heard anything from John? About the plan?"

"Oh- yeah, George told me he saw 'im leave a few days ago really early in the mornin', I'm figurin' to go ta Paris. They're a bit curious at the manor about where he went, but he'd made up somethin' about visitin' a friend to get away from all the hectic wedding plans for a bit." Ringo answered.

"Ah- okay." Paul had almost forgotten about the wedding. It still made his gut twist in a sickening way, no matter how many times he told himself that it didn't matter and that John didn't like Cynthia in that way, nor did she him. He instead focussed on the better part of that. He turned to Ringo. "Isn't that mad?" 

"What is?" He furrowed his brows, leaning back in his seat.

"That we're- y'know.." Paul gestured, quickly looking to the doorway again to make sure no one was there before shrugging. "runnin' away. Like.. it's so close to happenin' now, and John must've bought the house and everythin' if he went to Paris." 

His friend's expression darkened for a moment, eyes clouding over with emotion. "Yeah. It's.. it was a tough decision, but it'll be worth it in the end." 

Paul nodded, gaze training on the floor again as a sudden wave of melancholy coursed through him; but at the thought of making so many new memories and being able to be with John, joy overtook it and he grinned. "It really will be. 've never been to Paris. God, it'll be so amazin' to finally see it and eat the food and see the shops and everythin'-" He gushed. "free of .. what is it? Expectation." 

Ringo grinned. "It will be. I've been to Paris a few times, but it's been years. I'm excited too. And showing George what it's like will be great, too. It's gonna be hard to teach him French, though."

Paul laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, yeah! His Scouse accent is thicker than the snow in winter! If he tried to speak French to someone, they'd just look at him funny, not even able to understand 'im."

The older boy burst into laughter himself. "Can you imagine? 'Bon joor, mate. Can I 'ave a crohsaunt, sil vouse plate?'" His imitation of George's bizarre, drawling accent was surprisingly accurate, and Paul couldn't help but laugh harder.   
He'd been about to reply when his father came back into the room.

"Pea soup is ready, boys." 

They leapt up eagerly, Paul itching to have a nice bowl as they bustled into the kitchen, sitting at the table and thanking Jim as he divided up the soup with a ladle into their bowls. The pair eagerly dug into it, grateful for the warm substance to warm them up from the cold; Paul's thoughts again wandered to John as he ate. What was he doing on that rainy evening? Was he on his way home yet? Or had he not bought the house yet? 

"Hey, you 'right, mate? You seem pretty lost in thought today." Ringo's voice brought him to the present and he smiled half-heartedly. 

"'s nothin'. Just wonderin' about John, I guess." He was comfortable to say that since his dad had left the room after handing them their food.

The other smiled at him encouragingly, resting his hand on his wrist for a moment. "It'll be okay. You'll see." He turned back to finishing the last of his soup.

It'll be okay. Paul thought to himself affirmingly, taking a bite of his stale bread, staring into his empty bowl. John lingered on his mind for the rest of the night. It will be. 

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit this has literally 2 chapters left then its over !! hehe also i purposely made them both eat soup for parallels lolol. anyways the fact that this is actually so close to being done is a little scary to me hjhjdkf ngl,, well hope u guys enjoyed this chapter !! byee


	50. forty nine.

november 1859

Bare feet shuffled against cold stone as a young boy darted back and forth around the bedroom, picking up random titbits and examining them, sometimes placing them back where he found them, other times placing them in a large suitcase that was slowly being filled up. The only light illuminating the room was from a warm, saffron oil lamp placed on the desk by the door, washing the room in its glow. Dropping to his knees beside his bed, Paul leant down to run his fingers along the timber slabs underneath that was holding up the mattress, eventually finding a certain item tucked in between and pulling it out; the boy gazed down at the object resting in his palms with an increasingly fond expression, wistful smile gracing his plump lips as he did so.   
John's bracelet he'd given him back in May. The green and yellow crystals attached to the silver wire shone with an orange glow from the lamp, and the memories of the day he'd given it to him fogged his mind.

"Open yer eyes." John murmured, slowly letting go of his hands to rest his own in his lap, nervously chewing the inside of his cheek, thinking of Paul's reaction.

Doing so, the boy opened his fingers to find the shimmering bracelet in his palms.

"J-John!" He gasped in absolute shock, mouth falling open as he examined the piece of jewellery in wonder and awe.

"Think of it as.. an early birthday present." The older boy smirked when Paul's head lifted to lock eyes with him.

He couldn't believe that John would've spent so much money on a gift for him at the time. He could still feel the sun beating down on his bare back, George and Ringo nearby as they all lazed on the rocks, the hard stone beneath him hot and slightly stinging, painful against his skin. John's fingers brushing his when he placed the bracelet in his palms, eyes flashing with anxiety as he waited for his reaction. It was one of his most treasured memories. Pretty much every memory he'd ever had with John was a treasured memory. Every moment of lying there in the darkness together, moonlight staining his partner's auburn locks silver, or stolen moments in the safety of the barn; the time they spent in Paul's secret spots deep in the woods by his house, in the silken sheets of John's bedroom.. he vowed to keep those memories dear to him for the rest of his life, no matter what might happen in the future. Whether they might give up and turn back on their plan a few months in, or grow old together in Paris - or even move to another country or back to their home city; he would always remember every moment he'd ever spent with John, the first love of his life. And hopefully the only one. Paul figured he wouldn't find anyone quite like John ever again, anyway.. if he ever found someone else in the future, he felt they wouldn't quite complete him like John was always able to. It just wouldn't be possible.   
If Paul had never given the prince a chance, let him into his life.. he had no idea where he'd be if he never chose to do that. Or if he had just never gone to the masquerade.

Paul chuckled a little, feeling his throat close up and tears spring in his eyes, leaning against the side of his bed. That was what started it all. That stupid masquerade that Paul had never really wanted to go to in the first place.. dancing with John. That was when everything in his life flipped on his head and was never the same afterwards. He was surprised they didn't get more backlash for doing that, but.. in that moment, he remembered that he didn't even care what anyone else thought, anyway. It wasn't like anyone recognised him and would be able to spot him walking down the street later. They were all masked and forced to remain nameless, except for the queen, of course. He remembered the rage he'd felt when he made eye contact with Queen Mary that night - or Mimi, as John called her most of the time - thinking about how the one percent of the population laid upon their golden thrones and bountiful riches, while the rest slaved away for their entire lives, only able to scrounge up enough for meagre meals, most children dying in the first ten years of their lives from horrible diseases.

It just wasn't fair! Life shouldn't be like that. They had so much more money than they'd barely even be able to spend, while Paul and George and the rest of the poor had to often turn to stealing to obtain what was needed to survive. Society as a whole shouldn't have such a gigantic imbalance, in Paul's opinion. The only time his thoughts ever changed on rich people was when he slowly fell for John. It showed that people could often be products of their environment, and didn't have to be arseholes even if they had a lot of money. Hatred and disdain for innocent people is a bred practice, not something that's ingrained from birth. When you're brought up around it, it can turn you into the aggressor. And it seemed the same with hatred towards queer people, too.   
Paul knew he'd never be able to tell his father about the true nature of his and John's relationship. It was already quite a struggle when Mike found out.. he knew it would be much worse with Jim. He didn't hate his father for it, or really blame him all that much; he was just a product of their hostile environment like most other people. Paul hated it for a long time himself when he began to have feelings for John (the first time he'd ever felt romantic feelings for another boy, in fact). He felt disgusted, betrayed by his heart by longing for something that was considered wrong in every facet. He still did sometimes. Disgusted with himself, repulsed by his desires, a bred, instilled hatred for sodomy that would never fully fade, no matter what he did.

Instead he'd chosen to turn it into something else. To not look at it as queerness, or sodomy, per se - just focussing on John as a person. It was only John. Then, it didn't feel so wrong to him anymore.. in fact, he embraced it; because it was John. That's the only thing that matters about it to Paul. His love for John didn't feel wrong, didn't make him feel upset with himself for it.. it just felt perfect. He didn't consider himself a homosexual or anything like that, not really thinking about the technicalities or what his love for John labelled him as - because he just loved John, and that was all that mattered.

Letting out a soft sigh, he shuffled back to his suitcase where he was still packing his things, tucking the bracelet into the corner. He was never able to wear it anywhere most of the time, unless he had a long-sleeved shirt and was able to conceal it; it would raise too much suspicion, especially with his family, and he wasn't willing to take the risk. With that, he stood back up and sat at the desk, opening up the dingy drawer beneath and rummaging through it. He found a few old papers of childhood drawings that they'd kept, his worn out copy of Pride And Prejudice - which he had tried to read, even if he barely knew how, but he still liked to carry it with him anyway, feeling like it was comforting - and a wrapping paper with a drawing John had done of an unnamed large-nosed man. Paul remembered it had been a lemon tart or something of that sort, a little present for him when he still didn't like John and the prince was trying to show him that he wasn't who he thought he was. He couldn't believe how much had changed over the course of a year and a bit.

Placing those items in the suitcase, he examined his boots he'd gotten for his birthday from Ringo a few months earlier with a smile before putting them in alongside the other things he'd already piled inside. It felt strange to pack all of his things in one place. They barely ever had the money to travel to other places, so he'd really only been in Liverpool for his whole life.. the fact that he was about to leave to another whole country that spoke a totally different language was a little daunting, to say the least. But with John, he knew it would be okay in the end.

He'd just been about to continue searching for things to put away when he heard the front door opening, footsteps thudding against the stone floor as someone made their way inside the house; he froze in his spot and quickly moved to gather all of his things and shove the suitcase under the bed, throwing a sheet over it to cover it up before leaping onto his bed, heart racing wildly. Mike must've just come home from hanging out with his mates, Paul presumed, since he'd left in the early afternoon that day. Jim had gone off to visit some family members in another part of Liverpool and wouldn't be back until tomorrow afternoon.

"Paul?" He indeed heard Mike call his name, and he glanced up when the bedroom door opened and his brother peered in, smiling warmly when he spotted him there. It made Paul grin too, happy to see his brother.

"Aye, Mikey. How was yer friends?" He inquired, tilting his head before getting to his feet, moving past him to the kitchen, feeling the need for water.

"Good, good. We went to the pub and we got a bit smashed." Mike chuckled; only then did Paul notice his brother's deeply flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, and the way he was slightly unsteady on his feet when he trailed after Paul. So yes, he was tipsy. "Oliver threw up in the bushes on our way home."

"I can tell." He chuckled, rolling his eyes; he knew what that felt like all too well. "And poor Oliver. Surprised you weren't told ta fuck off by the bartender, though, most of ya look way too young."

"Well, you don't look exactly like an adult yerself." Mike shot back jokingly.

"Yeah, but Ringo does, so I'm usually dandy."

He laughed. "Yeah. I remember I was a little scared of him when you started becoming friends with him and he would hang out here. I thought he was like, twenty, when really he was thirteen or somethin'."

"I remember!" Paul chuckled, shaking his head a little as he poured himself a cup of water. "You used to run away and hide at first when he would come over, but eventually you came around."

"I know, poor Ringo." Mike scoffed a little as he sat at the kitchen table. "It feels a bit weird without da' here."

"Yeah, it does. He's not usually gone often." The raven-haired boy spun around on his heel, leaning against the kitchen counter and gazing at his brother. "We've never really left Liverpool, have we? Since we went to London only once, all those years ago.."

"Yeah, we haven't really gone anywhere. I would've loved to go to America or somethin', if we ever had the money." Mike shrugged, before his eyes lit up. "Or somethin' like France! That would be cool."

Paul swallowed thickly. If only he knew. He pinched his arm lightly in scolding to himself; don't give it all away! With that, he sighed and pushed off the counter, gazing out the window for a moment before turning back to the younger boy. He suddenly felt overcome with emotion, the reminder that he was leaving his brother behind lingering again in his head, making him have to clench his teeth to conceal the tears determinedly springing behind his eyes again.

"Mike.. you know I love you, right?" His voice quivered a little more than he intended.

"Um- yeah, 'course I do." His brother furrowed his brows, gazing at him in slight confusion and bemusement. "What's got you actin' like a bird?"

Paul didn't reply for a few seconds, clenching the edge of the counter tightly to keep composure before making his way over to Mike; he pulled him into a tight hug, burying his head in his shoulder as he squeezed him tightly. It was going to be one of the last moments with his brother before he'd be gone for god knows how long, uncertain whether or not he could come back to visit after everything blew over. If the ordeal would ever blow over. He was endlessly grateful for Mike's existence, his stupid humour directed at him, his willingness to help him out whenever he needed it... he was the best brother anyone could ask for. They'd been through everything together. It was going to be really really hard for him to say goodbye.

"You alright, Paul?" Mike chuckled when they finally parted, his hands lingering on his shoulders, looking even more concerned now. "You've been actin' so strange the last few weeks. Somethin' happen with John?"

"No, no, we're alright. Just.. I want you to know I love you, and no one could ask for a better brother." Paul sniffled a little, grinning through his teary eyes. "In spite of you makin' fun of me all the time, you're really kind at heart, and I hope- I hope you make it in the world. Y'know? Do what yer heart tells ya and all that. Don't let anythin' hold ya back, even da'."   
They both shared laughter for a few seconds before falling into silence again.

"I dunno what's goin' on with you lately, Paul.. but thank you. It-.. it means a lot to hear that from ya." Mike smiled, eyes glinting with affection as he lightly punched his shoulder. "Now stop bein' a sap, 'm gonna go to bed."

"Yeah, yeah," Paul rolled his eyes, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes to rid his tears. "see you tomorrow."

With that, he watched Mike's retreating figure into their singular bedroom, standing by the kitchen table; a singular tear rolled down his cheek and he buried his head in his hands.   
Why does everything have to be so complicated?

✧✧✧✧✧

"John!"

"Paul! Oh, thank god. I was worried you weren't gonna come..."

"I'd never do that to you, love."

A light frosting of wet snow spread across the stone footpath, disturbed by footfalls and kicked into the gutter; the pair we've seen falling for each other over time shared a brief hug - though they longed for more, they had to take into consideration that they were in public, even if they had thick coats and hats on to disguise their faces - before making their way further into the park they'd arranged to meet at, avoiding clumps of melting snow that were spilling from the leaves of the trees and onto the ground. The clouded, early-morning sky was obscured with clouds, and it was beginning to start snowing as it neared December, obvious by the remainders of snow from the night before. John did enjoy colder seasons, though he preferred summer and spring most of the time, since he loved water, especially the ocean - and you didn't usually go for a dip in the middle of winter, unless you wanted hypothermia.

Eventually Paul and John settled in a spot farthest away from sight under a huge oak tree, the younger resting up against the trunk as they stood there, shadowed and constantly glancing about to make sure no one was near. Eventually when they were sure they were alone, John captured Paul's lips with his own, cupping his flushed cheek with a cold hand, the younger wrapping his arms around his waist. Eventually they broke apart, their breaths condensed and visible in the frigid air. The raven-haired boy's round eyes glittered with a strong affection and they shared an adoring smile, John burying his head in the crook of his neck, relishing the warmth radiating from it.

Today was the day. He was going to confess to Paul his true feelings; he'd kept it to himself for long enough, insecure about whether he felt the same, but eventually he told himself to grow a pair and just tell him. Even if Paul didn't feel as strongly, it didn't matter - he just needed to let him know. How devoted he was to him. If Paul didn't love him back, well.. he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. He knew it wouldn't be good to dwell on the consequences for too long, lest he give into his insecurities and retreat behind his mental walls, losing all the resolve he'd managed to scrape together.

"How've you been? You faring well?" John queried, lifting his head to gaze at Paul in concern.

"Alright, to say the least." His partner chuckled, albeit humourlessly. He toyed with the almond-eyed boy's glasses idly as he spoke. "Gathered pretty much everythin' I need now.. I think da' and Mike are a bit suspicious that somethin's up, but 's okay. What about you?"

"Stressful. So much paperwork stuff, organisin' the house, along with the wedding and the crowning. We've just been preparing for all these things, I just want it all to end.." He groaned, hanging his head a little.

"It will soon, you know that." Paul ran a hand through his auburn locks, smiling at him sympathetically. "'Soon as all of us are ready and we find a good time to leave undetected."

John beamed back, kissing him briefly. "Yeah." They both fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments, one nervously biting his nails and racing hearts, the other gazing at him in slight confusion.

"John, what's wrong? I can see yer anxious." Paul gently took his hand to stop him biting his nails, entwining their fingers with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Alright, alright.." He relented. "I- need to tell you somethin'." He licked his lips nervously. "It's serious."

"Tell me." The younger encouraged, running his thumb along his knuckles with a careful smile. "'m all ears."

He hesitated. No more waiting and wondering, John, he told himself determinedly, you have to tell him now. Or else you might not ever feel like you can again. He clutched onto both of Paul's calloused hands, hands that he'd grown to love - slender fingers, but well worked, rough palms, blunt nails often choked with dirt - and gazed into his eyes. Those eyes that haunted his every waking and unconscious moment, round with dark, spider legged lashes and droopy, tired lids, so expressive and colourful. Shards of green and yellow with rings of hazel. They seemed to change colour in the light, too.. like in that moment, they were a brownish grey in the darkness, but in the sunlight, they were almost a golden green. They never failed to enchant John. His thin, upturned nose, tinted pink from the cold, dark arched brows that complimented his eyes so well; skin that knew the sun well with freckles like stardust across his flushed cheeks and the bridge of his nose, his plump lips shaped in a perfect cupids' bow.. how could a single person be so utterly stunning? He wondered how on earth Paul would ever fall for him; he was incredibly average in every single possible way compared to him. Paul was insanely talented, especially with music - the way he immediately picked up techniques he'd learnt in the past on the piano when he taught him was astounding. He could just make up any wonderful melody whenever he wished, it was a fascinating sight to behold. His unending kindness, willingness to stand up for what he believes in, unchanging for anyone. His optimism and witty humour, the fact that he'd given John a chance at all in the first place.. every possible thing about him he loved. How could anyone not love him?  
His fingers absentmindedly traced Paul's side, where his stab wound was, permanent scar forever on his skin since the fight at the bar all those months ago. It still sent a bolt of rage down his spine, jaw tightening in fury. If I ever come across those guys again, I swear I'll beat them to a pulp. Shaking away those angry thoughts, he locked eyes with Paul again, feeling his heart swell with an emotion so strong that his throat began to close up and tears sprung behind his eyes.

"How fucking beautiful you are.." John breathed, dumbfounded.

"..w-what?" Paul blinked a few times in shock, before his cheeks grew even redder and he ducked his head a little to hide his shy grin. "Oh.. thanks."

"Paul, I love you." He blurted.

An astounded silence fell over the pair, the only sound interrupting it being the rustle of the branches above and the distant sound of the city life around them; Paul froze in his spot, eyes slowly widening and glistening with shock, mouth falling open. There was a faraway bark of laughter before there was silence again. John felt his insecurities begin to arise again as Paul continued to say nothing, fear bubbling in his chest with every passing second.

"I... I know it's a lot to say and that. But I'm dead serious. I-I love you." John swallowed thickly, hands clenching Paul's tighter. "I just.. needed to tell you now before I lost my confidence. I'm sorry-"

"John!" Paul cut him off. He glanced up to see a huge beam crawling onto his partners' face - bigger than he'd ever seen. His eyes glistened with unshed tears and he let out an incredulous laugh before gripping the sides of his face, pressing their lips together fiercely. John's heart leapt crazily in his chest as he tentatively rested his hands on the other's shoulders. They parted and John stood there, dazed for a few seconds, glasses askew; he adjusted them and blinked at Paul in utter bewilderment.

"W-what?"

"I-" Paul bit his lip, letting out another laugh before pulling him into a tight hug. "I love you too. I- I love you. Oh my god."

John felt his stomach lurch, head lighter than air, as if threatening to float into the sky, and he couldn't help but grin himself, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn. "Are.. are you serious?" He does feel the same way! Oh my god, I could literally die happy right now.

"Yes! Yes, I-... I can't believe you feel the same way-" Paul stuttered, vainly trying to form his feelings into sentences, and John felt his back shudder in his grip; he buried his head in the other's shoulder, eyes shut tightly as he revelled in their new confessions. He really hadn't expected Paul to feel the same way.. it seemed everything around them was falling away now, just the two of them together, nothing else existed. Nothing could take that moment away from them. Paul was all that mattered to John. And John was all that mattered to Paul. 

"God.. I love you so much, Paul. You're.. you're just so great in every way ever- I'm so glad you feel the same." John babbled incoherently, feeling his hot tears stain the shoulder of Paul's coat as they continued to clutch at each other for dear life, as if it was their last time - as if they would fall apart at the seams if they let go of each other. He felt Paul's grip on him tighter, and it was all he needed. 

They had stood there for a long time. Just holding each other under the shade of that large oak in the depths of the park in the early morning, everything around them obsolete as they could only focus on each other. Eventually they moved away, only slightly; just so they could look each other in the eyes. John wiped away at Paul's tears with a wet laugh, pushing his glasses back up his nose before they shared a tearful kiss, resting their foreheads against each other afterwards.

"Paul?" John's voice was hoarse, just above a whisper.

"Yes?" Paul was just as quiet himself, as if they felt that if they spoke any louder, it would break the spell that had been cast over them.

"You won't regret this, I promise."

"Regret what?" Paul furrowed his brows a little as he toyed with the ends of John's hair.

"Regret running away." John blinked up at him.

He laughed quietly, cupping his partner's cheek.

"I won't if it's with you."

✧✧✧✧✧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii only one chapter left and then its all over !! god this has seriously been a wild ride aaAH anyways hope u guys enjoyed this chapter, love confessions galore wooo anyways see you guys for the last chapter (: almost sad this is ending, though im glad for the most part. byeeee


	51. fifty.

december 1859

Their moment was finally arriving. It seemed as if it was lying in wait, like a animal stalking its prey; watching, waiting, listening, still as stone, sharp eyes and tense muscles moments before the final leap. It felt like everything they'd experienced, every hardship, every joyful moment, every laugh, every tear.. it all led up to this moment. Now all four of them were tense, wide-eyed, jittery - all bouncing knees, biting fingernails, fidgeting hands - as they, like an animal stalking its prey (if you want to use that analogy), watched the sun begin to sink to its bed below the horizon, sky streaked with pinks, oranges and purples. It was a beautiful sight to behold, John always thought. The fact that the sunset can create such beautiful rich colours; but now it was signifying what was about to occur.

It was the day him, Paul, George and Ringo were going to abandon their lives in search of a new one. Free from restrains and obstacles - just the four of them, all together. In one place. They didn't have to sneak around, wait until the dead of night, steal moments before having to return to their separate lives as if nothing was happening.   
John wouldn't have to put up with Mimi trying to shoehorn him into a box he never wished to be put in anymore. He still loved her, but.. he couldn't be what she wanted him to. Paul and George wouldn't have to deal with the gruelling poverty them and their families were accustomed to (though they were planning on leaving generous amounts of money behind for their parents and siblings. They deserved it - Paul and George had been hesitant at first, but John had insisted they use his inherited money, since it belonged to the people that had been given to the royals long ago and he didn't feel that it belonged to him at all). None of them would have to deal with the fact that they were from wildly different social classes, classes that meant nothing to them and everything to everyone else.   
They'd finally be free.   
Well, as free as you could get in the 1800s. It wasn't exactly the best place if you weren't straight, white, able-minded or a man. But they've learnt to adapt to it. Find ways around it all.

John let out a soft sigh, gaze flickering to his desk next to him where he was perched on the bed. His unwritten letter to Mimi and his separate one to Cynthia were left on top of it, blank papers ready to be written on and left behind for them to discover. A surge of guilt coursed through his stomach as he stood up, gently picking them up to examine them. He was going to mainly assure them he was safe, saying he was sorry for past mistakes and telling them he loved them. Though in Cynthia's he was going to disclosed the fact he was with Paul, George and Ringo, but he couldn't tell her about their whereabouts. It was a precaution that they had to take, even if the person was wholly trustworthy, none of them could tell anyone where it was they were going. He just hoped she would be able to cope with his leaving alright. She had Jane, anyway. And her parents loved her a lot.

Shame burned his cheeks and he folded the papers up, placing them back down again. He felt terrible for leaving Cynthia right before the wedding; it was in a week, for Christ's sake! But it was too late to turn back now. The plan was set in stone.

He honestly could care less about starting a scene. Of course his running away was going to cause a ruckus, AND they were doing it right before the wedding. People would go on about it for ages. Though he didn't give a toss about what anyone thought of him. Only Cynthia, George, Ringo, and Paul. Their opinions mattered the most to him.   
He unfolded the paper, deciding to begin writing Cynthia's letter. 

Cynthia,

This might come as a bit of a shock to you. I'll have probably slipped this on your nightstand, maybe in the pocket of one of your coats, and you'll not have expected it, really. But I have to tell you.   
I'm running away.   
By the time you find this, I'll have already left. I'm so sorry for leaving you at this point in time, but I just couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't keep up this stupid façade of the perfect prince - or something like that, I don't know - anymore. Paul is my everything now. I love him, and he loves me. I have to get away, where I can truly be myself and be with him. Properly. This life Mimi has laid out for me is too much to bear, and I've always wished for something different, ever since I was a kid. I need to take this opportunity for myself.  
I can't tell you where I'm going, though I'm sure you know that. I will tell you this - I am with Paul, George and Ringo. All four of us. We'll be alright; we have each other's backs.

I won't be coming back for a long time, I think. I need to wait until everything blows over before I could think of coming back to Liverpool, and who knows how long that will be?   
I promise I'll visit you if I ever come back. You're such a wonderful girl, Cynthia. I love you very much. I'm glad you were there for me when I was going through a hard time, and it felt like no one else really was. I hope you find true happiness, because you deserve everything good in the world after what I'd done to you. I can't express how sorry I am for how I discarded you, how much it hurt you at first. I did love you in the way everyone thinks I do at one point, but.. that's long gone. But don't worry. I know you have Jane, and I'm sure you two will be very happy together. I still love you, as you're one of the closest friends I've ever had - besides George and Ringo, of course.

Please don't worry for me. I'll be fine. We're all going to be okay. You don't have to marry someone who doesn't love you anymore, you don't have to become Queen of Liverpool.. those expectations are lifted with me gone now. Don't listen to what Mimi says if she has a freakout. Just.. do what you love. Like your writing. You should pursue it. I know you love it, and you have an aptitude for it. You should look into it more.

I'll maybe see you again one day, who knows?   
For now, goodbye. You won't hear from me again for a while. I'll see you later.

John

With that, he placed his ink pen back in the bottle, eyes skimming over the words again one last time. He was about to fold it up and put it away for later on, when there were footsteps sounding outside his room, a knock on the door following it. He'd been about to ask who it was, but the door was swung open before he could do so, and he spun around on his seat to be greeted with the sight of Mimi. His heart skipped with fear and he quickly folded up the papers, holding them behind his back. She crossed her arms, dressed in a pure white silk dress.

"What are you doing?" Mimi furrowed her brows, gaze immediately attaching to the papers he'd hidden behind him.

"Just writing a letter." He'd been about to say to Cynthia, but thought better of it on account of the fact that she was already at the manor, in the study room reading. She'd arrived just before Christmas and celebrated it with them, and now was staying there until the wedding; she was supposed to move into the manor after it, and quite a lot of her possessions had been brought in already.

"To whom?"

Curse Mimi for being so damn nosy, John thought with an inward groan. He quickly forced himself to come up with a name.

"Pete."

"Ah, alright." She seemed to relax. A small smile overcame her face and she took a few steps forward, sitting gently down on his bed across from him. She placed a comforting hand on his knee with a joyous glint in her eyes. "I'm so proud of you, John. You've done so well. I'm so very pleased about the wedding.. Cynthia is such a wonderful match for you, and I can tell you two like each other very much. She will be an excellent successor to me." She paused for a bit, a cheerless silence hanging in the air. John opted not to reply, feeling an all-too familiar melancholy rise in his throat like bile.

"Yeah. Thanks, Mimi." He forced a tight-lipped smile.

He knew that what she was saying were huge compliments on her part, due to her being often emotionally distant and unwilling to discuss deeper, more painful or meaningful subjects; but they meant nothing to John. He didn't care about the wedding in the slightest, nor being a good successor to the throne. It was all insignificant, futile in his eyes - it wasn't like royal people did anything worthwhile, anyway. All they did was be born into wealth and sit around and pretend like they're making important decisions, get married and birth some offspring then hand it over to the next person. He couldn't bring himself to care about any of it.

"Right, well do you want me to fetch the maids for some tea, or..?" She trailed off as she got to her feet, adjusting her sleeves absentmindedly as she waited for John to reply.

"No, no. I'm alright." He shook his head.

With that, she gave her nephew's back one last pat before making her way out of his bedroom, shutting the door softly after her, footsteps fading down the hallway. He watched her go, heavy weight pressing down on his chest; he spun around to face his desk again, picking his glasses off his face and running his hand across the skin, letting out an exhausted sigh. Tiredness clung to every inch of his skin.

It'll be over soon. He promised himself, slipping his glasses back on to gaze outside. A sudden burst of a nervous excitement coursed through his veins, spreading to his chest and mind like a fizzling disease that he wanted to catch.  
Soon.

✧✧✧✧✧

Paul's leg bounced over and over+ again on its spot, twirling his fork between his fingers as he stared at his half-empty dinner plate, chewing absentmindedly on the fingernail of his free hand as he did so. It was growing more and more difficult for him to stay focussed and be mentally present in his brother and father's conversation as they ate their dinner - the last one he was having with them before he would be gone - when all he could think of was the fact that the sun was almost sunken below the horizon. Oh, and that he was about to fucking run away.   
He felt this elation, this anxious frenzy that crackled and swept across his nerves; but was overcome with a thick, ugly sense of guilt for feeling so excited about leaving his family and sorrow for the fact that he was leaving them behind without so much as a mention of his whereabouts. It was just a confusing mess of emotions, and he had to get out of there before it would become too much and he would fall apart at the seams. Letting out a sigh that was a bit louder than he'd intended, the raven-haired boy gently pushed his plate away from him and to Mike sitting across from him. He wasn't hungry in the slightest due to his nerves, and it would do his brother good to have some more food.

"You not gonna finish yer potatoes?" His father furrowed his brows a little at him.

"Nah, I can't have any more, really." Paul shook his head, forcing himself to relax with a fake smile. "Mike can have the rest."

"Aw, thanks, Paulie!" His brother dug into the leftovers eagerly, but Jim wasn't convinced; he placed a hand on Paul's forearm to stop him from getting up and met his eyes, gazing back at him sombrely.

"Are you feelin' alright? You've been so jumpy all day. Is somethin' wrong?"

Paul swallowed nervously.   
"No, really, da'. 'm fine. Just had a weird dream last night and it set me off. No worries." He lied with another smile, pushing his chair back from the dining table and getting to his feet. "Now, I'll wash the plates."  
He seemed to have convinced his dad, since he said nothing more on the matter as he collected their plates and cutlery, bringing it to the basin and beginning to wash everything up. The rhythmic motion of dragging the sponge across the plates calmed him down a little, letting him push his intruding thoughts to the side for that moment as he just focussed on making them as spotless as possible. The faint chatter of his brother and dad filled his ears, accompanied with soft clinks as he stacked the washed and dried plates on the bench next to him, and it soothed him in a way. He had done his best with the last moments he'd spent with them, and he knew now that it was time. It was time.

Under the pallid, muted orange light of the lamps, he packed away what he'd cleaned and hugged Mike and Jim, saying he was going to bed early, though he needed to check and see if what he'd lost - he vaguely stated his notebook - in the barn, since they knew he often hung out there on the second floor. He couldn't help but feel tears welling up behind his eyes when he stepped out into the outside area behind the house, hand tightly clutching an oil lamp that he held out in front of him in order to see.

"This is it.." he breathed. Paul's teary gaze travelled over the farmland he'd loved so much and grown up on, worked on, put all his sweat and tears into; the rolling paddocks adorned with sheep and horses - though they were now in their respective stables and pens since it was night time - the rows of wheat and cotton in the distance. The chicken pens, the stables and pens where all the animals stayed in the night or during a storm; and the thick, murky forest that stretched on for miles - the forest that he'd played in as a kid with George, Mike, Ringo... sat with Mary .. spent time with John. He'd also remembered to collect his special box from where it was kept under the exposed roots of the tree next to his favourite spot in the summer and spring time, deciding to bring it along with him to Paris.  
All these things... he loved them so dearly, hundreds of memories clinging to every blade of grass and branch of a tree like morning dew.   
There's a ninety percent chance I'll never see any of these things again.

With that, he mustered all the courage he possessed to step out onto the pathway, determinedly making his way to the barn, forcing himself to shove his sentimentality aside in favour of gathering last minute things. Be ready to leave and meet John, George and Ringo at their meetup spot; a specific street nearby to him and George's houses, before they would hitchhike their way to Paris. Eventually he reached it, greeted with the shuffling of hooves. The light from his oil lamp wasn't bright enough to reach the animals that were in the other end of the barn, though he knew there was mainly goats and a few horses. He continued trudging his way across the dirt floor, eventually reaching the very end of the barn, where Ginny was situated. The grey spotted horse lifted her head in greeting, letting out a soft huff as she nudged his shoulder with her muzzle. He smiled warmly at her, fishing an apple out of his pocket that he'd gotten specifically for her before holding it out for her to eat.

"There, Ginny.. there's a good girl.." he muttered hushed praises as he stroked her neck while she ate, still holding the lamp in his free hand. "Ginny.. I'll be gone for a long time. 'm going away. I dunno when I'll be back. But don't miss me too much, alright? Mike'll take care of ya. But I'll miss you too." 

He knew she didn't understand what he was saying, but there seemed to be some kind of understanding embedded in her gaze as she leaned into his touch. As if she knew what he meant, and she was reassuring him that it would be okay. He smiled softly one last time, letting his arm fall to his side.

"Bye, Gin. Be good." His voice was just barely above a whisper. He then spun around on his heel and made his way back to the front, where the ladder that would take him to the second floor was situated. He swiftly ascended it; his footsteps creaked loudly on the old, dusty wood when he arrived on the top floor, sending clouds of dust falling below as he did so. His things were hidden in piles of straw and behind hay bales in the corner, and he cleared it all away to reach it. Dropping to his knees, he opened up his suitcase, gazing at all the things inside. Everything he was taking with him.

He picked up the letter he'd written with the help of John that he was going to leave behind. A feeling of melancholy swelled in his throat again as he slipped it into his pocket. He was going to drop it off on the desk in the bedroom- when Mike and Jim would be asleep - on the way out. Now everything was in place. All he had to do was wait, gazing out the spider-web laden windows to watch the lamps in the house be blown out. Then it would be time to go. He knew they would be unconcerned with the fact that he hadn't come inside yet; he sometimes slept in the barn in the warmth of the straw, usually with blankets that were kept there (though they eventually became moth-eaten and riddled with holes. Albeit Paul didn't mind it much). Thank god it wasn't snowing that day, or else Jim would get worried and become nosy.

Now all he had to do was wait. Again.

Quick, hushed footsteps broke the silence fallen over the land, damp grass tickling the boy's ankles as he reached the back door of his house. He was now in almost complete darkness, the sky above a void-like black, the exception being the waxen moon, reduced to a claw, providing a slither of light. The dead silence pressed in on him as if it were a physical force, all senses heightened and searching for any trace of noise, ready to retreat into the darkness at any moment. All of Paul's muscles were tense, eyes wide and anxiety bubbling in his chest as he tentatively reached for the doorknob; he twisted it open as slowly as he possibly could, doing his best to stop the door from groaning in protest as he edged it open. Peering into the even darker house, he was glad to see no one awake - with that, he crept inside, leaving the door open for him to retreat (he knew it would make way too much noise if he tried to leave through the front door) and creeping into the hallway.

As he slowly pushed the bedroom door, another wave of loss echoed throughout his body when his gaze fell upon the sleeping figures of his brother and dad. Two people he loved to the ends of the earth. It hurt so much to know that he couldn't tell them where he was going, and the fact that he had to sneak away in the night without their knowledge.. it felt wrong, but also exciting at the same time. Being rebellious. Shut up, Paul! He scolded himself. Just get on with it. They might be waiting already.   
With that, he slipped the cloth bag that held the money - one hundred pounds, to be exact, which was a hell of a lot of money (to John it wasn't much, but he wasn't surprised about that) - from his pocket, cringing slightly when the coins jingled, rustling the paper notes as he placed it on the desk. He slid the folded letter underneath it, relieved when neither Mike nor Jim woke up. 

"Goodbye.. da', Mikey." He whispered, gazing at them with a wide, warm smile, beginning to get choked up all over again. "I'll see you again one day." He adjusted his suitcase slung over his shoulder before slowly retreating from the room, not without one last wistful look in their direction - he shut the door after himself and crept out of the house, closing the back door after him. He was almost there. Just had to make it to the street, then they would be on their way.

"C'mon, Paul. You can do this." He told himself determinedly, his breath visible in the chilly night air. And he could do it, he knew that. He had John, Ringo and George with him for every step of the way.   
Of course he could.

He began to pick up the pace of his footsteps, circling his house and eventually emerging on the street out the front of it. He let his gaze rake over it one last time, committing the vision to memory, before setting off down the street. His eyes were fixed on the ancient cracks branching and spreading across the stone footpath like lightning, worn out from being walked on for years and years. A bitter breeze whipped his cheek, and he hugged his thick, warm coat that he'd gotten from John beforehand closer to his frame. The wind had picked up since he'd gone out to the barn, and he figured that it would probably start to snow soon.   
He wondered whether John, Ringo or George were there yet - was he going to be the first person there? The thought of standing there by himself in the dark, deserted street sent fear coursing through his veins. It'll be okay, he told himself. I'm sure at least one of them is there by now.

His questions where answered when he finally reached the street. It was deserted, as he'd expected, and shrouded in darkness, broken only by a street lamp that flickered with an uneasy flame; he saw two figures standing by it, hushed whispers breaking the thick silence; his footsteps slowed and he stood there hesitantly, unsure whether it was any of his friends, though he noticed both of them had large suitcases of their own, and he recognised fluffy auburn hair in the muted light of the lamp.

"John?" He called, taking a few steps forward. Excitement surged in his chest when the taller person of the two spun around and he recognised his partner's face. He broke into a run to reach them and pulled him into a tight hug, burying his head into the crook of his neck, relishing the warmth on his cold face. He held him back just as tightly - a second person joined in on the hug, and Paul grinned as he locked eyes with Ringo.

"You guys got everythin'?" He asked as they parted. "Where's Geo?"

"Yeah. And he's not here yet. But he will be soon, 'm sure." His azure-eyed friend replied, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm them up.

A bolt of anxiety coursed through Paul's stomach, and he turned to biting his nails.  
"What if he doesn't come? What if he gets caught or somethin'?"

"Hey, love," John began, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling the younger up against him, smiling at him comfortingly. "it'll be fine. George is smart as hell. He'll be alright."

"Yeah... you're right." Paul conceded eventually. "'m just nervous, is all."

"Me too. This feels.. strange," Ringo agreed. "but exciting."

They all were jittery. The three of them glanced around them every few seconds, anxious to get moving and hoping that George would arrive soon. But it seemed they didn't have to wait for very long - the spindly boy showed up within a few minutes, looking unsure but enthusiastic, the huge suitcase slung over his shoulder looking almost twice his weight. His fanged grin glinted in the light of the lamp. They all shared brief hugs with him, the dark-eyed boy's enthusiasm infectious and now embedded in all of them.

"Aye, lads. Off we go now, eh?" The youngest of the group drawled.

"Yeah... off we go." John nodded. They all gazed around them for a few moments, knowing exactly how the others were feeling as they shared a few beats of silence. They were leaving it all behind, only memories and a few possessions carried with them. Their families, their homes, their lives.. in search of something better.

Nothing more was needed to be said. They just shared one last, long look before turning around and beginning their journey.

It was the mark of a new chapter in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys wtf this is actually over now omg !! it's been over a year since i started this and im actually rly sad that it's over. even though i find a lot of faults with it and it was the first fic i actually got more than 3 chapters of, and my first beatles one too djdjdjf like sometimes reading a few of the earlier chapters make me cringe but i still have such an attachment to it. this fic was legit so fun to write and i've made friends along the way because of it!!! i just wanna say thank you all SO SO MUCH for all the kudos, the comments, everything i've ever gotten about this story. you guys have no idea how truly happy it made me and how much it motivated me to keep this story going when i wasn't feeling like it was going anywhere . it definitely didn't go in the way i had originally planned lmaooo 
> 
> ANYWAYS !! the blue danube is over now, thank you everyone so much for reading and the ppl who inspired me to write this even if i'm not friends with them anymore djdjdjf and i really really hope you guys have enjoyed this story as much as i have writing it. i love u all so much <333 bye!


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